


HALA HALA

by 0KKULTiC



Series: We Would Be Savage [5]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ has bounties on their heads, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Captain!Hongjoong, Capture, Cyborg!Yeosang, Death, Enemies to Lovers, Escape, FirstMate!Wooyoung, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hybrid!Kevin, Hybrid!Yunho, Jongho!Jongho, M/M, Mentioned Stray Kids Ensemble, Mentioned The Boyz Ensemble, Multi, Organized Crime, Outer Space, PO!Seonghwa, Prince!Mingi, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, Siren!San, Space Flight, Space Gangs, Space Pirates, Temporary Truce, Violence, Working with the Enemy, a crackship is born, bounty hunters and all sorts of crimes mentioned, cheeky bantz, crackship, criminals, i apologize in advance for my characterization of our side characters here, in which Stray Kids and The Boyz are a merged gang bc the space economy gets the best of us, jailbreak, lots of shooting!, more innuendo and bad jokes bc im actually 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 104,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0KKULTiC/pseuds/0KKULTiC
Summary: ATEEZ finally sets a course for their most promising prospect yet. However, the brief lapse into a new tedium gets abruptly stopped when the crew finds themselves getting pulled in.Initially invisible, the mysterious force reveals itself to be a threat greater than what they'd ever imagined: a massive warship. Emblazoned on the giant vessel's side is the brand of a notorious gang. (Well- two notorious gangs...?)With bounties on their heads, the crew finds themselves trapped and segmented. Before his search for Treasure continues, Hongjoong's needs to find his crew and get out. Unfortunately, the only help he's got is the one person on that ship who wants his head more than anyone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> // this work IS beta'd! thank you @chikabow you beautiful sunshine, you

Yeosang stretches languidly, bones cracking and metal creaking. Even with mechanical eyes, his vision blurs from staring at the Compass for… How long had it been? He realizes: he doesn’t know. He slides his bulbous goggles off of his face, letting them hang around his neck.

 

The cyborg purses his lips at the infernal contraption. He’d never met a machine he couldn’t understand, couldn’t pick apart and piece back together. For the first time he feels utterly and completely lost. The Compass is fickle and unlike anything Yeo had ever worked with before. The only real productive thing of note he’d accomplished was rendering a rough schematic. His typical approach is surgical and methodical. If he can’t get something quite right, he’ll break that thing down to the tiniest pieces he can possibly handle, from a semi-functioning whole down to a heap of panels and screws. 

 

However, the Compass isn’t just a faulty electromagnetic panel or ramp hinge. It’s… Something. Yeosang can’t even tell precisely what. Yes, of course he comprehends that it is a map. A map that, apparently, stores logs, too. In truth, at this point in his inspection, the cyborg is terrified of picking it apart. Hell, he barely even dares move it. Hongjoong has impressed upon him enough just how damn important the thing is to him. Yeosang wouldn’t dare risk breaking the thing for good.

 

_ “Shiff.”  _ As if summoned by the cyborg’s thoughts, the captain’s small silhouette darkens the doorway to the bridge. He plods toward the cyborg, oversized sleeping clothes sagging on his petite form. Even though he’d obviously barely woken up, he’d gone to the trouble to make coffee, it seems.

 

Hongjoong extends one of the steaming mugs toward Yeosang kindly,“Any luck retrieving the logs?”

 

“Thanks,” Yeosang utters softly. He feels sheepish having nothing to report. Sure, it’s only been a few days, but he’s not used to not having results. Guilt pangs in his chest as he responds to the question, “Nothing yet… This thing is weird.” He nibbles his lip, eyes veering away from Hongjoong to the device. “I’m sorry, I-“

 

“Don’t apologize. You’ve already done way better than any of us could have,” Joong quells the deprecation before it starts. He flashes Yeosang a kind grin. “Not to mention how much you’ve helped us out with the ship.”

 

It’s true, Yeosang at least has that under his belt. After mapping the coordinates they’d seen, they charted their course. Usually, the independent planet would be a quick hop and a few days away. However, given the low fuel levels, ATEEZ’s course has to be a bit longer, slower, and more efficient. Yeosang doesn’t mind too much. It’s more time for the cyborg to acquaint himself with the ship - and the people on it. After assessing the fuel levels, Yeosang looked at the ship’s operations and checked out the engine room. A few minor changes did wonders for fuel efficiency. It’s nothing, really, but the entire crew acted like he’d performed a miracle when he told them that the low-econ of the trip wouldn’t cost them half their supply.

 

“Least I could do,” Yeosang replies because it is. “Still I’m-“

 

“Not going to apologize for not figuring out an ancient device in three days,” The captain cuts him off again. He narrows his eyes suspiciously, and asks, “You been up long?”

 

Yeosang lifts the mug to his lips and shrugs, taking a sip before replying, “Meh. Sleep comes and goes.”

 

The captain starts,“Is that a…” He trails off, biting down on his lip.

 

Yeo chuckles, knowing exactly where the question was going, “A cyborg thing?” Hongjoong’s gaze falls into his mug sheepishly.

 

“I guess- like- does it-“ The captain gestures vaguely, “-with your mind?”

 

The cyborg suppresses a laugh at that. He wonders what they think he’s done to himself. Cram motherboards into his brain or something? At least Hongjoong hadn’t asked if he had to charge himself at night like Mingi had. Though, Yeo supposes that’s better than the godawful jokes Yunho cracks. (“What’s Yeosang like for a snack?” Yunho asked one morning at the breakfast table. Yeo barely got so much as a syllable out before the canis guffawed: “Computer chips!”)

 

“I have some mechanisms that interact with my brain directly, yes,” Yeosang answers coolly. He knows nobody’s asking them to be rude. It’s probably foreign to most people to see someone with that much machinery at such a young age. Sure, war-worn GC vets or affluent elderly people might have lots of augments - but a virile, young adult? It’s not common outside of the colony to Yeosang’s knowledge. “I actually back all my memories up to a couple of different drives and a server.”

 

“Is… Is that for real or are you joking again?” Hongjoong gasps, eyes wide.

 

You joke that your charging port is your asshole  _ one time _ , and suddenly, nobody believes  _ anything _ you tell them. Also they very unsubtly check out your ass at every chance they get.

 

“Wh- Yes, I’m serious this time,” Yeosang replies.

 

“So- Wait- Am I like-“ Hongjoong sways awkwardly, “Am I being filmed right now?”

 

Yeo snorts (nearly shooting coffee out of his nose doing it), “Okay- Well, you make it sound so sketchy. It’s no different than what a normal has. I just have an external fallback, something I can look back to. You know, regular people have that too. It’s called a memory.”

 

“Right, right…” Hongjoong still doesn’t seem to buy it. “But you back yours up-“

 

“Tons of people with ocular implants do. It just makes it a little easier to look back at the memories, that’s all. Also, worst case scenario, if I suffer major memory loss, I can actually reload them.”

 

The captain concedes with a shrug, sipping his coffee. Yeosang’s more than happy to let the guy drink quietly as he continues to work on the Compass. Or, well, trying to work on it. On BH being a cyborg was sort of a given, it was regular. Unremarkable. Yeosang had stumbled across travelers plenty of times, but it never stuck out to him how different he is until now. It’s not that he minds it terribly. It’s just that they tend to ask interesting (read: inappropriate) questions.

 

Quirks aside: ATEEZ’s crew is nice, friendly, and fun. Though he doesn’t like to dwell on it much, they’re carving a deeper and deeper niche in his heart every day. 

 

It’s nice, being around lively people close in age. Similar to him yet so very, very different at the same time.

 

Hongjoong in a word is kind. Kind, kind, kind. He’s firm but gracious; a little stubborn and a hard worker who worries in excess. 

 

Yunho never tires. He’s the definition of energetic, but he has a calmness, too. A serenity. Something about his presence is sort of grounding, disarming even.

 

Wooyoung is interesting. Bright and loud, sharp and fun. But he has a softer side. It’s not something Yeosang knows well, but his intuition tells him it’s there. Above all else, the ex-blackcoat trainee is multifaceted, and Yeosang knows he’s barely scratched the surface.

 

Jongho has an unshakeable air to him. Nothing bothers him or gets under his skin - at least not on the outside. He’s low key, but there’s not anything that seems difficult to him. It’s impressive, really, for a regular human.

 

San is a bit of an enigma. Yeo can relate a bit to that feeling of “otherness”. He can tell the other’s still got some reservations about his new lifestyle. Not that he regrets it, but that he’s still treading carefully, more carefully than he wants to let on.

 

Not-Prince Mingi shows nothing but contradictions. Between his cute mannerisms and harsh appearance, between his fear of the menial and fearlessness when facing tough decisions.

 

They’re a vivid, colorful group, and Yeosang can’t believe he’s been accepted as one of their own, nail painted and all. Even though he’s so, so unlike them; even though they’ll probably ask him weird questions for days, weeks, months, years to come. 

 

Suddenly, Yeosang recalls one more person present. The true mystery. The faceless blackcoat:

 

Petty Officer Park Seonghwa.

 

Hongjoong said that he used to figure introducing people to him quickly was ideal. However, with Yeosang he “didn’t feel like it”, insisting that the guy’s unpleasant and not worth paying mind. Yeo had yet to draw the short straw on delivering the guy a meal, hence he’s not ever seen him. Given that the captain’s most favorite nickname for him is “Petty Officer Prettyboy”, Yeo imagines he’s at least attractive.

 

San described him as “narrow minded and vile” while Yunho just calls him “a prick”. Most forthright about the blackcoat’s looks is Jongho who calls him “hot but evil”.

 

Kang Yeosang is a curious creature. Is, was, will be, always has been a curious creature, and not knowing about this Petty Officer gnaws at him more than it really should.

 

“I’m gonna let you work, okay?” Hongjoong’s voice rouses Yeo from his musing.

 

“Of course,” Yeo nods. “I’ll probably resurface for lunch. Might go down to my PC and update the schematic. Maybe tinker in my room, I dunno,” He notes a little notch he hadn’t seen prior. The captain tips his mug, and with that he departs.

 

Yeosang watches him leave. He waits until Hongjoong’s blond head disappears down the stairs and his footsteps recede to muted echoes. When he turns his attention back to the Compass, all it does is reminds him of the frustration he’s faced. He’s been at it for… What? Two hours? Sleep is a fickle thing for Yeosang, and he knows he hadn’t gotten much of it, that’s for certain.

 

Heaving a sigh, Yeosang runs down the stairs swiftly. He walks through the common area, waving to San and Mingi - apparent breakfast stragglers. The two bid him a good morning, and seconds later he’s trotting down the stairs to the bottom level. 

 

By reflex, Yeosang finds himself in front of the twelve screen setup they’d situated in the bay’s corner. He blinks at the flickering screens confusedly, forgetting why he’d gone there in the first place. 

 

Suddenly, something itches.

 

It’s not physical, but mental. The uncomfortable teasing sensation scratches at the back of his mind. Pressing his lips together, Yeosang turns to look over his shoulder. On the wall opposite his setup is a closed door. It’s plain, unmarked. There’s no indication that behind it lives a breathing human being, a whole other person, separated, isolated from the rest of the crew. Someone who proved too much a threat to let roam free.

 

Is he supposed to  _ not _ be curious?

 

Yeosang swallows nervously - when did he get nervous? His eyes dart around conspiratorially, like he’s being watched. Yes, there’s security feeds, but the likelihood that someone’s watching them is basically nil. His gaze falls on the door to the brig again.

 

It’s not like the captain told him he can’t go there. Hongjoong never restricted any areas, he doesn’t do that. He trusts his crew enough to not pull stupid stunts or rob him clean. Seems like well-placed trust, too. He doesn’t trust Petty Officer Park Seonghwa, though.

 

Petty Officer Park Seonghwa, locked behind a door. That door. Over there. The one that’s almost  _ yelling _ at Yeosang loudly, lit up with the glow of his fascination.

 

Yeo surveys the cargo bay again. Nothing. Nobody. Not even a mouse or a bug or a speck of dust. The coast is clear. Trying to look as casual as possible (for no legitimate reason, really) Yeosang crosses over to the brig door. He glances over his shoulder again before punching in the general passcode. The security console chirps, returning a green light above the projected numpad before sliding open. Yeosang steps in timidly, like he’s entering the habitat of a predatory animal.

 

The first thing the cyborg registers is noise. A sound. Quiet. It’s not the door closing - it’d already shut. Is it the ventilation? Something going through the piping? Yeosang strains his hearing as he takes a hesitant step inward.

 

“Fff… E… Mf…”

 

It’s… A voice.

 

Soft but undeniably present utterances.

 

Suddenly, Yeosang freezes. His entire being seizes up, stunned by he doesn't know what. Terror? Fear of repercussions from the captain? Dread? Nerves toward meeting a new person?

 

From his spot by the door, Yeo can’t see into the last cell quite yet. All he does see - the sight that stuns him - is a single arm reaching out between the bars. It paws at the floor blindly, as if looking for something.

 

Swallowing down the trepidation, the cyborg braves a few more steps forward. Shockingly, the prisoner hasn’t noticed him. At least, Yeo doesn’t think he has? The man is reaching for… Something. But not the cyborg. Probably? It’d be silly to reach for a person so far away.

 

So what is he reaching for. It’s almost as if he’s lost something, but what does a main in jail possibly have to lose?

 

“Fucking- hell…” A sharp whisper echoes down the brig, loud enough for Yeo to discern it properly. The cyborg quirks an eyebrow. The prisoner’s arm extends through the bars again, fingertips stretching to the max. “Goddamn- fucking clum…”

 

Yeosang follows the ends of the prisoner’s fingertips and zooms in with his ocular implants. At first, he can’t really make anything out. The guy appears to be pawing at the floor like a lunatic. However, shifting through a few different vision modes, Yeosang’s sight changes. He toggles through thermal, night vision, auric readings, ID data, and finally, composition data. That does it.

 

The arm: organic. A mixture of various compounds. The floor: alloy. Various metals mixed with a few minerals, process and refined, manufactured for ideal strength. There’s one little unknown, though that tips him off. An unknown, tiny object. Object, unknown: plastic.

 

Plastic?

 

Yeosang zooms in a bit more, squinting and taking a step closer. Finally, he sees it. It’s a tiny, knobby looking piece of plastic. Oddly enough, it looks… Familiar. Yeosang gets closer, reorienting his vision and squatting down so he can pick up the piece. The outstretched arm immediately draws back like anything outside the bars is fire.

 

Yeo picks up the tiny plastic knob and grins, extending it toward the man behind the bars, “Looking for this?”

 

He is, just as everyone described, pretty.  _ Very _ pretty. He’s got a severity to him that would be intimidating outside in the real world. Hell, he’d be terrifying even. Though he’s been jailed for some indiscriminate amount of time, he looks flawless. His platinum blond hair falls in a perfect swoop, revealing just a flash of forehead. He’s got perfect skin and gorgeous, carved features, along with lips that look almost too rosy to be true. The eyes - obviously dyed irises - just add to the harshness of his imposing appearance. They take on the appearance of a cloudless summer sky. Not the pleasant kind, but the kind that gives no break from the blazing hot sun, stunning but merciless. 

 

He’s almost as pretty as Yeosang. Almost. 

 

Petty Officer Park gives Yeosang a wide-eyed stare as he scrambles back, to the corner of his cell. He half-turns around, shielding something with his body. 

 

“Wh- Wh- Who are you?” The man stutters out.

 

“I’m the guy who’s giving you back your piece,” Yeosang replies, shuffling closer to the bars and extending the knob again.

 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” The prisoner turns to face Yeo completely, sitting cross legged and crossing his arms in front of himself. “I think you’re confused- whoever you are.”

 

Yeosang glances past the PO’s sitting form into the cell. A quick vision toggle and scan confirms his suspicion. 

 

He chuckles, “Let me guess… Real Grade Pegasus AZ-100? Thought I recognized the piece. Built a similar model myself a year or two ago.”

 

“That’s- Those words make no sense,” The PO huffs.

 

“So that thing you’re trying to hide under your cot isn’t a half-built mech model?” Yeosang quirks an eyebrow and smirks. Checkmate.

 

The Petty Officer’s cheeks flush deep red, and his already tense body coils tighter. He looks defeated.

 

The cyborg laughs, “Would you prefer that I think you’re some freak flailing around in your cell, reaching for nothing?”

 

“Fine,” Petty Officer Park finally concedes with a huff. His eyes struggle to meet Yeosang’s - something the cyborg finds immensely amusing. “It is, in fact, a mech model. I… I used to enjoy putting things like that together- not that you care.” 

 

Yeosang watches the man visibly wrestle with himself. Like he’s angry at himself for speaking even that much. It must be hard, being isolated from everyone, not knowing what time it is or where you are. 

 

“I always liked building models. Always liked tinkering in general,” He replies.

 

“Hm,” The PO grunts. “Never had the patience to tinker or invent. I prefer having directions, something with a clear end goal.”

 

Yeosang shrugs, adjusting to sit more comfortably on the floor, “Where’d you get your hands on that anyways?” 

 

Officer Park heaves a sigh, and Yeo swears his flush deepens. Just for giggles, he checks the PO’s thermal readings - he definitely reads hotter. 

 

“The, uh, captain, actually,” The prisoner replies strainedly. “Guess he thought it’d be funny to give me a children’s toy, but, um- well, unsurprisingly he failed to comprehend that Venusian children are advanced far beyond typical children.”

 

“That’s for children?” Yeosang’s brows raise incredulously.

 

The PO grabs something from behind him and sets it down on the floor. Through the bars, Yeosang reads the box. There’s lots of Venusian alongside the galactic universal language. In big, colorful letters, it reads: “Fun for ages 3-5!”. Damn. Venusian kids  _ are _ advanced. The kit had clearly been rebranded for Venusian consumption, but it’s something that would normally be pitched to well-seasoned,  _ adult _ model making hobbyists.

 

“Had himself a good laugh, too,” Seonghwa adds wryly, rolling his eyes.

 

Silence rolls in between the two of them as Yeosang observes the other. He does what he always does: analyzes, deconstructs, tries to figure out what the pieces are, how they fit together to form the whole.

 

Petty Officer Park looks young - about their age. Probably not much older than the crew. Obviously, he’s got just values, believes in order and has faith in law enforcement. Is a part of law enforcement. He’s neat and prim, but something about him wreaks of tryhard. His appearance, maybe. In spite of his imprisoned condition, his nails look nice and clean, his skin is clear. He likes his hair straight, not wavy it seems. It’s parted to the left - indicative of masculinity, firmness. Who is he trying so hard for? Himself? Or others? Not upper class - a middle class upbringing for sure. Probably on one of the nicer Earth colonies. Suburban. Strict, conservative values. Probably didn’t grow up with a lot of different types in his life. Only knows diversity through the Coalition, Yeo guesses. Body language reveals confidence, defensiveness, anger, sternness - yet the cross-legged position communicates openness. Perhaps, in this case, it’s curiosity.  

 

“Do you have any business here?” The PO’s voice cuts through Yeosang’s thoughts. “Christ, and I thought you were normal…” The last bit is whispered, a low hiss, probably not meant to be heard.

 

The cyborg blinks confusedly, “Hm- Business?”

 

“You know. Any reason you’ve come here? I’ve already gotten breakfast, and I imagine it wasn’t out of a desire to return the plastic arm joint I’d dropped to me,” The slight furrow in the officer’s brow squashes into a full-fledged grimace. “Usually the captain comes along for introductions.”

 

Yeosang shakes his head, “No agenda, I just… I was curious,” He shrugs. It’s the honest truth. That door drove him crazy every time he sat at his hub in the cargo bay.

 

“Curious?” Seonghwa quirks a doubtful brow. “Are you certain? You didn’t come here to- I dunno, taunt me? Intimidate me? Gloat over getting out of some ill-founded, near-death experience?”

 

“Uh- No. Do they do that often?” Yeo holds back another laugh.

 

The PO’s azure eyes dart away sheepishly,“W-well…” He quickly regains his confidence, and from Yeo’s impression, it’s genuine, not faked. “Don’t you, like, loathe me or something? Don’t you want to curse at me for what I do? Tell me I’m scum of the universe or something?”

 

Yeosang tilts his head inquisitively, “No.”

 

“I- Wait- No?” The severe scowl on the PO’s face falters, giving way to shock. “Are you- Is this some joke?”

 

Yeo shakes his head, “Why would I conflate your entire being with your chosen occupation?”

 

“So, what, you think you’re hot shit because when you look at me you don't see a monster?”

 

“Wh- No,” The cyborg chuckles at that. “Is that what you think? That I came here to judge you?”

 

“Didn’t you? After all, you said you were ‘curious’. Wanted to look at the captive zoo animal?”

 

“You’re just a human the same as all of us.”

 

The blond raises his brows incredulously.

 

Yeosang elaborates, “I understand you’ve more than wronged this crew in various ways, but… I like to form my opinions based on my own experience. You can call it scientific. I’ll build off of and look at others’ data, but I prefer collecting my own.”

 

“Hm,” The prisoner grunts. His posture loosens - he’s relaxing a little. “I’m not a science experiment, you know.” He adds bitterly. Walls back up.

 

“I know,” Yeosang replies. There’s really barely any bark to the PO’s bite. Yeo wonders if he’d always been this mild or if time had worn him down. Or perhaps he appreciates the cyborg’s neutral approach. Yeo’s fairly certain if people gawked at him through bars and assumed things about him, he'd be a bit snappy, too. Of course, he wasn’t there when the PO said and did nasty things to the crew. It’s an odd place to be in: wanting to trust in your cohorts but ultimately needing your own validation.

 

“So, what’s your story, then?”

 

“Hm- Mine?” The cyborg tries to hide his shock.

 

“Everyone on this ship seems to have one. Running away from something, kicked out of somewhere, escaped from high security holding…”

 

“You think I’m a criminal?” The assertion amuses Yeosang more than anything else. He supposes that he is - though the majority of “crimes” he’d committed in BH were so normalized it was easy to forget. Augmenting unregistered parts without medical certification and installation is, technically, against the law. But everyone still does it. Given that the alternative is losing limbs or entire senses, the people of BH figure it’s reasonable to sneak around for the sake of livelihood. But it’s not like a malicious, harmful crime (unless some hack is the one constructing and installing cybernetic parts).

 

There was the bombing, though. The very targeted, politically fueled bombing.

 

Yeosang concedes: that’s definitely a  _ crimey _ crime.

 

“Are you not?” The PO asks. “I imagine no other type would be comforting cohabitating with, well, a bunch of criminals. And a Venusian prince. And a siren- be careful with him, by the way, I think he bites. His teeth look awfully sharp.”

 

“I’m from BH colony- it was the ship’s last stop,” The cyborg ignores the PO’s insults. 

 

“BH?” Seonghwa’s tone drops immediately, acridity flooding out in favor of something remnant of worry. “That’s a very dangerous place.”

 

“You’ve been?”

 

The prisoner shakes his head, “Only heard and read about. They had to withdraw police from the sub-sectors due to how serious crime had gotten.”

 

Yeo, a person who prides himself on staying calm, bristles slightly at that, “Is that what they said?”

 

“Wh- Yes. It’s well known in the Coalition. Not a place you want to be stationed. Of course- now they’re shifting everyone elsewhere. Guess it’s gotten too much even for GC forces in some areas. Still- I don’t quite trust robots. I’m surprised you got out in one piece.”

 

“Because of all the dangerous crime, right?” Yeosang asks wryly.

 

“Well, yes. Not to mention the sickness,” Seonghwa frowns.

 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t make it out in one piece,” Yeosang pushes down the sleeve of the sweatshirt he’d been wearing, revealing his mechanical forearm.

 

“Oh,” The prisoner’s voice drops. He stares openly at the thing, the fabrication in the likeness of flesh. “It’s a beautiful piece.” He murmurs, perhaps unintentionally.

 

“Thanks, I made it myself,” Yeosang blurts out by reflex. He’s always happy to get his work praised - he just hadn’t expected it from PO Prettyboy (as Hongjoong likes to call him).

 

“You lost it to the sickness?”

 

The question takes the cyborg by surprise, but he nods in affirmation nonetheless.

 

Officer Park presses his lips together as he meets Yeosang’s gaze once more, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

“Yeah, well, where I’m from the sickness isn’t nearly as deadly as your kind,” Yeosang says.

 

Seonghwa’s open body language and expression rapidly harden yet again, “My kind?”

 

“Well, blackcoats.”

 

“God-“ The PO huffs, “-why is it you all blame us for your problems?”

 

Us. So he still identifies with them. He probably still intends to get away, to continue his life as a dog for the Coalition - Yeosang takes note.

 

“Probably because you keep killing us on sight,” Yeo answers frankly. He’s not here to indulge the other, deceive or sugarcoat anything. He wonders what Seonghwa’s gonna say.

 

“On sight? Killing?” The prisoner looks taken aback and utterly baffled. “We use stun.”

 

Yeosang narrows his eyes at the prisoner, swapping his vision to thermal again. It’s the best thing he’s got for lie detection (without physical contact for pulse detection).

 

He leans forward, asking pointedly, “What do they tell you about BH?”

 

“Wh- That’s none of your business,” Seongwha replies defensively. “We certainly don’t kill people on sight like animals.”

 

Yeosang watches the heat reading closely. There’s no fluctuation. Not one. His body temp is completely stable.

 

It occurs to the cyborg that blackcoats might get training for this type of thing, but a Petty Officer? One with a desk job (according to the captain) at that? It doesn’t seem likely he’d employ any sort of special training to attempt to get goodwill from Yeosang. He’d probably go a bit more bleeding heart and lavish more compliments if he wanted to suck up. PO Park doesn’t seem the type above kissing ass, either, so it doesn’t seem like it’s that. Above all else - ignoring all the gadgetry and mechanisms at play in the cyborg’s head, reading things - Yeosang gets a gut feeling the guy is telling the truth. His human core feels inclined to believe the prisoner, in spite of him being a damn blackcoat. That’s just as important as anything his machinery tells him. Moreso, even.

 

“What if I told you they did?” Yeosang asks.

 

“I’d call you a liar. The Coalition doesn’t do that. That’s absolute savagery. We don’t switch our guns to fatal settings unless ordered to - under very special circumstances. It’s about due process.”

 

“What about your bots?”

 

“What- What bots?”

 

“The ones you have sweeping the lower sectors of BH?”

 

“Wh- The ones with the fucking hats?” Seonghwa scoffs. “What do they do- issue a stiff warning?”

 

Once again, there’s no change from the baseline. No body language quirk, no odd turn in tone, no spike in temperature. He’s telling the truth. Or, at least, his truth.

 

“Shit,” Yeosang breathes out. “They really don't tell you anything, do they?”

 

“What are you talking about? Wh-Why would the goings on of BH be relevant to me lightyears away in KQ?”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“What I do and don’t know isn’t your concern,” The blond spits back, affronted.

 

Yeosang heaves a sigh. He studies the PO again, intrigued. He considers leaving then and there, letting the man’s ignorance stand. What concern is it of his, truly, whether or not a single, jailed petty officer understands what’s really happening in BH. But… He can’t help wondering. They say curiosity killed the cat.

 

But satisfaction brought it back.

 

Yeosang excels in two things: figuring out how things work and fixing them. 

 

Viewing Seonghwa as a project, he wonders: can the petty officer be fixed? Can he be reformed?

 

Or is he every bit as vile and repugnant as the crew makes him out to be? Yeosang’s not sure what it is, but something inclines him to further investigate. Though the others describe Seonghwa as glacial, Yeosang detects a glint of humanity beneath that icy exterior. He may be salvageable yet. Perhaps a little bit of knowledge, some deeper understanding, can bring that humanity forth, thaw him a bit.

 

Or, perhaps, he’s just a prejudiced, racist prick.

 

The thing is: Yeo will never know which it is if he doesn’t at least try to push some buttons.

 

Reaching his conclusion, Yeosang frowns. It’s not nice, not something he wants to do, but he feels he has to. For science (or, more aptly: to quell his own curiosity about the man behind bars).

 

“I didn’t want to do this,” The cyborg mutters. He blinks a few times until a holographic projection beams out from his eyes into the cell. Seonghwa staggers back at the sudden emergence of the small scene. 

 

It’s Yeosang’s field of vision. Not his current one, of course.

 

A memory.

 

“This was… Two-ish years ago, I think?” Yeosang says matter of factly. He frowns. He’s seen this one before. Knows what’s to come.

 

The projection is miniscule, a dwarf version of life as he’d seen it that very day. He’s sitting in a stall, slurping down noodles at the counter. Next to him is another one of the ramen stall regulars, Nakia, and behind the counter the same old man who’s worked the place for decades. It was such a  _ happy _ place - once upon a time. Those were the best damn noodles in the sub-sector, and Yeosang had managed to secure a warehouse just a few blocks down. 

 

Seonghwa gasps, astounded, “Holy-“

 

Before he can continue, a tinny sound echoes out across the brig:

 

“-he hell is that thing?” It’s from someone in the projection - Nakia. She was maybe a decade older than Yeosang. Had kids. Two maybe? Three?

 

Yeosang’s vision shifts, he glances behind them, and there it is: a spherical patrol bot. Hat and all. 

 

His chuckle sounds muffled through the shitty speakers he’d installed in his arm (it’s not like he anticipated using himself as a media player  _ often _ ). 

 

“That’s adorable,” Yeosang of the past says. “It’s got a little- a little what’s it called.”

 

Nakia, however, isn’t as amused. Perhaps she knows. Maybe she’d heard. The woman looks unsettled, and the tense air around her is almost palpable - even through the projection. Yeosang wonders how he hadn’t noticed back then.

 

“We should go,” Nakia says. She tucks a few of her corded braids behind her cybernetic ear. The silver metal sticks out starkly against her chocolate skin. It’s not something Yeosang ever used to pay mind to, but after that event, it sort of stuck.

 

The projected Yeosang starts,“But why-“

 

“Aaaaaah!” The shrill scream squeaks through his speaker. His view jerks behind them, and the sight is jarring, to say the least. It’s like he’d turned to eat noodles one second, and upon turning back around, the rapture had started. One of those horrific, articulated tentacles had closed around some poor person’s ankle. A commotion breaks out, people watching on in horror, screaming. One person nobly tries to reach out, but it’s for naught.

 

“I don’t understand,” Seonghwa says. His eyes never leave the projection. “What’s- What’s all this-?“

 

“Oh god-!” That’s Yeosang’s own panicked yelp coming through his speaker. “What the fuck-“

 

As if purposefully putting itself on display, the sphere floats closer to the onlooking crowd. Its sides sever, revealing the sharpened pikes within menacingly. The body is lifted between them slowly, implicitly. Everyone watching knows exactly what’s gonna happen, but nobody can stop it. Nobody can look away, either.

 

The captured person’s screams distort the sound coming out of Yeo’s shoddy speaker. It’s apt, he thinks, befitting of the horrific situation playing out from his ocular implants’ projection. Seonghwa winces but, just like everyone who’d been there, he can’t look away.

 

_ “Clang.”  _ The iron maiden closes with an imposing finality. All sound ceases for a few seconds, but it’s quickly followed by agonized wails and cries. The people who’d gathered to watch scatter.

 

“Yeosang!” Nakia shouts, bursting out of her chair. “Run and find shelter. Do not leave for anything, and don’t open your door for anybody, you understand?”

 

The old, confused Yeo didn’t know what to say, so he just mutters, “Wh-“

 

“Just do as I say, kid!” The woman bolts, disappearing into the screaming crowd.

 

The viewport glances at the old man behind the counter who looks absolutely petrified. There’s some muttered parting words - an apology and a few credits slapped onto the counter. Then Yeo sees himself running. He doesn’t even remember this part. It’d all been a blur. Somehow, bobbing and weaving through alleys in a roundabout route, he makes it without coming face to face with one of those things again. It’s not as if he doesn’t hear any, though. No, he hears the caterwaul. The yells, the cries, the begging for mercy and the robotic intonations of damnation.

 

He never saw Nakia again.

 

The ramen stall closed a few months after, too.

 

When Yeosang finally reaches his barely unpacked workshop, the vision starts to blur. It’s familiar and wet. That’s where Yeosang stops.

 

“What the hell was that?” Seonghwa asks. His voice betrays no strong emotion: not sadness, not anger, not disbelief. 

 

“The patrols,” Yeosang replies, blinking to switch the projection. He’s not done yet - as painful as it is. One won’t cut it with someone as stubborn as the petty officer. The cyborg nods to the new projection. This time he's peeking out from the crack of a door.

 

“This one’s more recent. July 3017,” Yeosang says.

 

From the sliver of vision granted by the viewport, the two in the brig watch a similarly terrifying scene unfold. This time two people are snatched up at once after being scanned. They’d been holding hands, running, and one had been caught. Their partner refused to let them go, hence, they died as they walked: hand in hand.

 

Yeosang shows another one from later in 3017 - he’s behind the closed door of his workshop - wisened up enough. Though he knew he really shouldn’t, he stood by his door, listening. He doesn’t know why he always did that. Maybe it was in hopes that he could maybe save a few people. He supposed the habit eventually paid off with ATEEZ.

 

However, in the memory playing, the people outside his door aren’t so fortunate. The blood curdling screams are muffled, even moreso due to the faulty speakers they’re being played through. There’s sobs and begging.

 

When Yeosang queues up another - one from early 3018 - Seonghwa barks, “Enough.”

 

Yeosang quirks an eyebrow, blinking to shut off the projection, “Hm?”

 

“I- I’ve seen enough,” The petty officer says, more coolly. His gaze fixes to the ground, and his shoulders slump a bit. 

 

“You really never knew about any of that- did you?” Yeosang asks again.

 

Seonghwa’s posture locks up again - he sits up a bit straighter and folds his arms more tightly in front of himself, “It certainly looked… Real. What you showed me.”

 

Stubborn. 

 

He doesn’t want to believe it, but he’s not aggressively denying it, either.

 

Stubborn but not completely inflexible.

 

There may be hope for the petty officer yet.

 

On that disturbing note, Yeosang stands up. He grins a bit, satisfied with his first assessment.

 

The cyborg gives his parting words, “I don’t think you’re as bad as they say, Petty Officer.” He states.

 

Seonghwa’s body slackens a bit again - probably more from shock than anything. He’s like a cobra, coiling and uncoiling with varying tensity. It must be exhausting swinging between those two states, Yeo muses.

 

“You, either… I don’t believe you told me your name.”

 

“Yeosang,” The cyborg tells the other. “Just call me Yeosang.”

 

Seonghwa nods, trying it out, “Yeosang. You’re, um, not too bad yourself. In spite of the  _ dreadful _ company you choose to keep.”

 

Yeosang laughs at that, “They’re not so bad once you get to know them.”

 

“Hm. Maybe so, but they’re not like you. You’re the only one who doesn’t antagonize or ogle me like some animal in captivity. You actually treat me like a human.”

 

“From what I’ve heard, you haven’t exactly been nice, either,” Yeosang calls him on it.

 

Seonghwa shrugs. He can’t deny that.

 

“You have a good morning, then,” Yeosang bids farewell, walking away. “Oh, and have fun with the model.”

 

Those are his last words before he disappears through the door. He feels satisfied, the chip of unceasing curiosity finally swept off his shoulder. Yet, in place of the one question he’d had, a dozen more pop up. As absolutely ill-founded as the thought is, Yeosang can’t help thinking:

 

He’ll come around.  
  


* * *

 

“Mingi,” San flicks the snoozing Venusian’s nose. He leans heavily against the arm of the couch where the other is snoozing. His ankle still aches, but with a splint around it and some GC military-grade reformation serums, it’s healing quickly.

 

He gets a snore in return.

 

“Mingi,” San does it again.

 

Still nothing. For a guy from a high-class, royal upbringing, he sleeps heavily. Some time after breakfast, Mingi had draped himself over the sofa in the common area to read. San thought that a person like that would be hard-wired to rise with the sun and stay up. Or, at least the simulated daylight of the ship’s cabin.

 

Daylight.

 

That was the first major adjustment San had to overcome. Prior to living on the ship, he’d never thought it to be such a change (not that he’d had  _ much _ time to think). Back on his home planet, beneath the surface of the sea, daylight meant something entirely different. It filtered down, obscured in the depths from distance, scattered by the water above. 

 

Sirens - contrary to what his fellow crew thought at first - are not savages. They do utilize high technology just as much as terrainial humanoids - it’s simply different. Panels toward the surface absorb the strong daylight and filter it into energy stores used for simulated light down below. Still, that light always had an amber tone to it. Only certain places get something even resembling what true daylight is - ribbons of light dancing on the structures below. When San snuck off to the surface, he greeted the sun on his own terms, he expected it.

 

In the ship and on planets, the sun rose and fell of its own volition. It beamed mercilessly down below with little to no moderation and only buildings or the occasional shade structure for shelter. San found himself squinting a lot because of it. He’s somewhat acclimated, but he still finds himself rubbing his temples to alleviate his headache from time to time.

 

Mingi, on the contrary, seems to have no such reservations about light. Or sound. Or someone flicking his nose, apparently. Just as San’s about to wonder what  _ will _ wake the Venusian up, the younger man stirs.

 

“Mn…” 

 

“Mingi,” San flicks the other’s nose again - just for good measure.

 

“Mn… San?” The (not)prince’s face scrunches up. He stretches, his lanky body taking up the entire length of the couch as he does so. “Is something happening?”

 

“I’m bored,” San states flatly.

 

“Go bother Wooyoung,” Mingi replies.

 

“Didn’t feel like it.”

 

Mingi pouts but indulges the other by sitting up. Just as the captain had advised, San has been trying to get to know the Venusian better. In truth, he never expected it to be so simple. Mingi’s easy to get along with and likable. For someone with such grand presence, he’s incredibly captivating.

 

Their upbringings are vastly different, yet they’d managed to find common ground. Both had their lives plotted out from an early age: one brought up to be shaped into a deadly warrior, the other groomed to be a picture perfect monarch. They both like music, though San preferred willowy, lilting vocal things in contrast to Mingi’s preference for bass-heavy hip-hop tracks.

 

Most importantly: both of them sometimes felt impossibly lost in the new life they’d thrown themselves into.

 

Something about that soothed San more than he thought it ever would. People like Wooyoung and Hongjoong are assured and experienced in many aspects of the starfaring, fringe lifestyle they’d adopted. Yet San still ends up finding the most comfort in Mingi, in knowing that someone else feels just as lost in space as he does. Mingi’s presence in general has an almost healing effect, and San envies that. He fears that he unnerves some of the crew (though not one of them would ever dare admit such a thing).

 

Mingi blinks at San dazedly in wait of an answer for the ever pressing question: why the hell am I awake right now?

 

San answers the question nonverbally by flopping over on top of the other, nudging himself into the nook under the Venusian’s arm.

 

That’s another most peculiar adjustment San’s had to get used to: the sensation of touch. It’s so, so profoundly different above water, San can’t even begin to describe it. Sirens - in spite of their reputation - aren’t big on physical affection. Underwater things just feel different. Less, in a way. Sirens had evolved so much, yet their sensory intake had yet to refine itself in tune with the changes underwater. Surfaces and vibrations simply feel muddled, like a ghost of their true self. In air, everything feels so strong. So real. So true, so soft and rough and gritty and callous and fuzzy- so many things. It’s part of why San loved sneaking out in the first place. He’s always appreciated physical affection yet had few opportunities to engage in it, save for with close family or upon intimate occasions. Even then, it had been underwater, sheathed by the dulling waters in which they were submerged.

 

Out in the air, on the ship, everything feels more. More intense, more authentic. Not only that, but his crewmates are kind, accommodating, and more than open to physical touch. He keens at the sensation of Mingi’s warmth radiating into his own body.

 

It’s nice, simple and friendly. “Skinship” someone called it - Yunho, maybe.

 

He feels like he’d missed out it on for so many years, and being able to feel that every day makes him wonder how he went without for so long? 

 

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” San tells the other when he’s found a comfortable spot. The common room is quiet, empty save for them and filled with the faint hum of electronics in the background.

 

Mingi purses his lips, “I’ve been sleeping at weird times lately. Without a concrete schedule I just wake up and doze off at the most random of times.”

 

“Is… Something keeping you up at night?” The siren asks concernedly. It’d only been days since leaving BH. He can wager a guess as to what’s really going on.

 

In confirmation of San’s suspicions, Mingi sighs and nibbles on his plush lower lip, “It’s hard to sleep.” He admits.

 

San nods, “I understand.”

 

“I’ve just- I’ve never seen anything like that in my life,” The Venusian breathes out shakily. San nuzzles himself closer. Proximity translates to comfort, something San learned quickly from the ATEEZ crew.

 

“I haven’t, either. Guess we’re both experiencing a lot of first times aboard this ship,” San says wryly.

 

“Not a lot of fun ones, though.”

 

“I quite like seeing the stars,” Just the thought brings a little grin to San’s face. They’re so sparkly and endless.

 

“That’s true, they are really cool. When you think about it, we really could go anywhere. Just- anywhere.”

 

“I know it’s-“ San chuckles, “-it’s completely insane. Whole entire civilizations and colonies, all with their own unique cultures.”

 

“So many people. But there’s also empty space, too.”

 

“Empty space?” San hadn’t thought of that. To him, space is a place overflowing with life, with possibility. 

 

“I’ve read stories- horror stories and a couple of true ones, too- about people getting lost in space. They run out of fuel or something and just… Float. Forever. One by one their ship’s functions just stop. Or- in one of them they ran out of food and started eating each other-“

 

“That sounds horrific!” San smacks the other for putting the thoughts into his head. So much for his untainted image of the stellar expanse.

 

“What?” Mingi laughs sheepishly. “It’s entertaining. There are some stories from survivors. One published a book, and it’s really interesting. Tragic, but interesting! Like- they rationed out their morsels of food so the women and children-“

 

“Enough!” San grabs the nearest pillow and smacks Mingi square in the face with the cushion. “You’re scaring me. Now I’m thinking: what if we end up like that?! I overheard the captain talking about low fuel levels already with Yeosang. They think I don’t understand what they’re saying, but I’m figuring it out.”

 

“Don’t worry, San, we’d eat you last,” Mingi snarks. “I think you’re the skinniest onboard, and you’d definitely taste fishy-“

 

_ “Thwap!” _ San hits Mingi again. Rude.

 

“Some people like fish, you know. Seafood is a delicacy from what I’ve heard.”

 

“I think Jongho would have better marbling than you.”

 

“Wh- What does that mean?”

 

“Oh it’s um-“ Mingi draws swirls in the air with his fingertip, “Like the white swirlies in meat- usually red meats like beef and game. They’re intramuscular fat deposits. More marbling results in a really juicy cut.”

 

“We don’t really eat red meat under the sea for, well, obvious reasons.”

 

“That- Right, that makes sense,” The Venusian chuckles.

 

“If marbling is indicative of fat, I imagine that I do have very little,” San lifts an arm which, he admits, is rather skinny. Probably not something anyone would pick first to eat. Not that it matters- why does it matter? What are they talking about again?

 

“Exactly. So, you see, we’d eat you last.”

 

Oh, right, the cannibalism. Fuel running out. Life support shutting off. Damnation to floating into the void of space for the rest of their short lives.

 

_ “Thwap!” _ San hits Mingi with the pillow again, “Stop talking about scary things! This whole- everything is- is enough as it is…” The siren sighs in defeat, letting the pillow drop limply to the floor. “It’s more than enough.”

 

San is prideful. He doesn’t like burdening others with his emotions or issues, but with Mingi - given that he’s having a similar experience - it’s easier. Being able to comfortably display vulnerability, even if only a sliver, alleviates so much weight from the siren’s shoulders. That’s why he feels okay frowning and burrowing his face into the other’s shoulder.

 

“It feels so far away, doesn’t it? The places we called home,” Mingi replies sounding almost sagely. It’s amazing, really. He acts loony the majority of the time, but occasionally his manner changes. He shows regality and intellect. Everyone on ATEEZ is, in some way, strange, and Song Mingi is far from an exception. He’s got saccharine mannerisms and a sunny personality that conceals contemplative wisdom beneath, all wrapped up in an intimidating appearance.

 

“It was… Weeks for me,” San replies, voice muffled by the fabric of the other’s shirt. “But it feels like a lifetime.”

 

Mingi nods, “I know.” He squeezes the siren’s shoulder. “You ever think about going back? Are- are you ever scared?”

 

“Scared? All the time,” San confesses. “But… I would never go back. I can’t, really.”

 

“Right- Sorry, I forgot. You- you don’t have a home to go back to.”

 

“Don’t apologize. We all have our reasons for being here. Having a home that uses you to further its political agenda is not much better than being without one. What about you?”

 

“Hm?” 

 

“Ever think about going back to that place? To home?”

 

“I think…” Mingi thinks on it for a few moments, “I think one day I will return. At least make contact with my family. They think they have my best interests at heart, but I need to forge my own path. Maybe at another point in my life I’ll be ready to face them again. But not right now. I haven’t seen enough. I don’t know enough. I can’t go back with nothing to show for it.”

 

“I hope you can make peace with them in the future,” San says. Suddenly, the mood feels entirely too oppressive for San’s liking. This talk of futures, of getting lost at space, of life - it wears on him, so he decides to lighten the mood. “I bet, when you  _ do _ meet them, you’ll have years of experience and firsthand knowledge.”

 

“Hopefully,” Mingi replies.

 

“And lots of great stories to tell.”

 

“We’ve already got  _ stories _ , and it’s been days.”

 

“Maybe you’ll have learned a new skill or two.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Can tell them about exotic, far off places.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Introduce them to your handsome hybrid husband.”

 

“Mhm- wait- I-“ 

 

A cheshire grin spreads across San’s face, “A very handsome, tall, brunette humecanis husband-“

 

“Sh-shut up.”

 

“-who’s super tall-“

 

“Shut up.”

 

“-with a blond, curly tail-“

 

“Stop.”

 

“-and chubby cheeks-“ San laughs.

 

“Stop it!” Mingi starts whining.

 

“-and a pretty, glowing smile-“ The siren coos, entirely too content tormenting the other for his incredibly unsubtle crush.

 

“Stop.”

 

“-and a big, fat, throbbing-“

 

_ “Thwap!” _

 

“Mmnf-“ San’s last word is stifled by a pillow to the face. Damn his swift retaliation. “Mnfnfhh-“ San tries to protest, but he’s still being smothered. Just because he can breathe underwater doesn’t mean he can get suffocated out of it!

 

He paws around in front of himself until he finds the other’s wrists and tries to pry them off. The two end up grappling, fighting for control over the one weapon present: the pillow. They abuse the poor cushion in the struggle, wresting it back and forth from one another and firing swift smacks. Close combat had never been San’s forte, and Mingi’s bigger than him, so the match proves to be trying. However, Mingi’s ticklish, an advantage San does not hesitate to use to gain the upper hand. 

 

Their dignified gentleman’s duel devolves into a giggling mess quickly, and it isn’t until someone loudly clears their throat that they even notice another person is there. The two freeze, faced with the judgmental stare of their well-marbled youngest.

 

“How old are you?” Jongho asks jokingly, crossing over to get something from the kitchen.

 

“Fun doesn’t have an expiration date,” Mingi replies with a laugh.

 

“And you two don’t have brain cells,” Jongho jokes back.

 

“Do humes not have a culture of respecting their elders?” San asks facetiously. 

 

“We do, but we also factor in the mental age. Oh- but, seriously, how’s your ankle doing, San?”

 

“You asked me that this morning,” San replies, sitting upright and untangling himself from the other. “It was fine then, and it’s fine now.”

 

“Just making sure. You know, we were all really worried about y-“

 

“Oof!”  _ “Claaang!” “Thud-!” _ “Wh-”  _ “Clack-clink-!!” “CLACK!” “Thud.” _

 

It happened in a second. The entire ship jerked forward, sending all unsecured persons and possessions stumbling back. Jongho’s mug came crashing to the floor, Mingi and San practically slid off the couch.

 

Everybody freezes in the fallout, all wondering the same, exact thing:

 

What the hell was that?

 

A few muttered shouts echo into the common area,“Uh-” “Fuck- What was that?” “Yunho, bridge- now!” “Where’s Yeosang?”

 

“That… Doesn’t sound good,” Mingi mutters.

 

* * *

 

Hongjoong storms into the bridge, hair still damp from the shower and heart pounding against his chest. He trusts Yeosang, and they’ve been cruising for a few days, so he doesn’t think the ship’s erratic jolt is his fault. The question is: what the hell is it, then?

 

Wooyoung’s already seated in one of the pilot’s chairs when Joong steps in, and Yunho’s not far behind him. The two frantically press buttons, and all sorts of little projected warnings and screens pop up. The sight boggles Joong’s mind, but he tries his damndest to keep up. A few alarms wail in the bridge - not a good sign. 

 

Yeosang’s close behind, taking the steps two at a time to reach the navigation hub,“What’s going on?” 

 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Hongjoong answers. He passes the nav console and asks the two sitting in the pilot seats. “Anybody have any idea what’s happening?”

 

“Uh- Not really, no,” Wooyoung answers, his brows knit together in concentration as he tries the controls. Joong checks the projection in front of the first mate. A lot of lines read: “unable” or “fuel levels too low for this operation”. Fuck.

 

“It’s- It’s like a gravitational pull,” Yunho explains from the other side. “It’s sucking us in fast.”

 

“From  _ what _ ? There’s not a planet in sight,” Hongjoong squints outside the viewing window of the bridge. It’s nothing but open space - stars as far as the eye can see, and not a single one close to them.

 

 _“Thud.” “Squeaaak-!” “Thud!”_ _“Wheeep! Wheeep-!_ ” The ship jerks again, hull groaning in protest as the alarms persistently wail. Hongjoong clings to the chairs with a vice grip, gritting his teeth as his mind reels. He wants to think of a solution - needs to, but what? 

 

What the hell can he do about some threat with enough mass to pull them in that’s somehow completely undetectable?

 

“Can’t we just- get away?” Joong posits. He asks more for propriety and explanation than actual curiosity. He’s got a feeling that, if he could get away, his pilot and first mate would’ve already figured that out.

 

“Fuel levels too low for any jumps or high velocity thrusting right now,” Wooyoung replies.

 

The pattering of footsteps against metal grating indicates the entrance of the others. Jongho, Mingi and San fan out, all just as frantic and confounded as the captain. Joong greatly appreciates their concern, but the bridge starts to feel claustrophobic with the entire crew present.

 

“What’s going on?” Jongho asks. Though he’s the youngest, he’s the one who’s got the other two clinging to him - one on each arm, cowering slightly.

 

“We’re getting sucked in,” Hongjoong sighs exasperatedly. “Something gravitational.”

 

“But I don’t see anything,” San says, squinting.

 

“Yeah- Nobody does,” Joong replies. It’s a lot of noise. The people, the panic, the clacking of keys and the muttered curses. “Can- Can we shoot at it? We’re armed, aren’t we?”

 

“Shoot at  _ what _ ?” Wooyoung responds to him. He waves out to the great nothingness beyond (the great nothingness that’s somehow pulling them in). “We don’t know what the hell’s going on. It could be a ship malfunction for all we know.”

 

“It’s  _ not _ a ship malfunction,” Yeosang insists from his post at the nav console. “I checked the engine room just after waking up, and I spent most of the morning in here. Everything’s fine. But, I agree. There could be some asteroid or celestial body we’re not seeing. Shooting might backfire on us if we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

 

Hongjoong frowns. 

 

The ship lurches forward again, this time violently. There’s a lot of uttered apologies, curses, and crew crashing into one another. Hongjoong practically goes through the damn viewing window, saved by Yunho’s fist in the back of his shirt. Coughing from the force he’d hit the console with, Hongjoong reels back a bit.

 

“Fuck,” The captain hisses. 

 

He doesn’t have time to do, say, or think anything else, because that’s when a light glimmers in front of them in the viewing port. It’s a tiny flicker at first, just a single spot, then the spot expands.

 

Slowly, the light stretches out into a ring - and through the ring, Hongjoong can see… Something. But  _ what _ ? 

 

The captain mutters,“Is that-?”

 

Everyone notices and leans forward, squinting to get a look.

 

The halo of light grows. It grows and grows and grows until through it one can see… Metal. The pace picks up, and more metal materializes through what had been a mere twinkle a minute ago. It grows exponentially, stretching out and revealing more and more metal. After a couple of minutes, the metal starts to take on a shape.

 

“Oh god,” Yeosang steps forward, jaw dropped in awe, in devastation. “That’s a cloaking device.”

 

“What?” Hongjoong squawks. He looks closer again, and he realizes that Yeosang is right. He’s not watching some structure materialize out of thin air. He’s watching something that’d always been there finally unveil itself. The light continues stretching out, exposing more and more hull.

 

It’s a ship.

 

A  _ big _ ship.

 

Even after minutes of the cloaking falling away, the entire thing still isn’t revealed. The more of the ship Hongjoong sees, the more dread fills him. It’s massive.

 

_ Massive _ .

 

“Is that a ship?” San asks, his voice tiny.

 

“It’s a warship,” Wooyoung answers, tone awed. “That’s what’s pulling us in.”

 

Oh.

 

Oh no.

 

The realization dawns on Hongjoong, sending a chill down his spine.

 

“How do we stop it?” The siren asks.

 

“We don’t,” Yeosang says.

 

Fear coils around the crew tightly. It’s tense, almost suffocating, squeezing the life out of them, strangling. Hongjoong can hardly hear anything else over the sound of blood surging through his veins and his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage. He strains himself to focus. Just focus. Focus on something to get them out. Anything. It’s difficult with the way his heart hammers 

 

“D’you think they’ll take a call?” Hongjoong asks.

 

“Wh-” Wooyoung looks at the captain incredulously. “Maybe?”

 

“I mean- they’re not coalition, right?” Hongjoong squints at the still-uncloaking warship looming closer and closer. He doesn’t see the signature white and blue or the trademark logo plastered anywhere.

 

“Uh- No, definitely not. I think I see some- some writing, but I can’t make it out this far away,” Wooyoung says.

 

“Just- Just call them. Please. Maybe this is a misunderstanding,” Hongjoong holds out hope mostly because  _ someone _ has to. Wooyoung nods, obliging the command.

 

_ “Bring… bring…” _ The line rings for a few seconds, and the crew goes silent. Hongjoong feels a sweat form at his nape, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when the call is accepted with a soft clicking sound.

 

“What’s this?” The voice that recieves him is deep, a bit husky but not old. Hongjoong hears a slur in it. 

 

“I’m Hongjoong, captain of ATEEZ - the ship you’re pulling in.”

 

There’s a muffled chuckle, then a response, “That so?”

 

“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding,” Hongjoong labors to keep his voice steady.

 

He’s met with silence.

 

Swallowing nervously, Joong adds, “Are you with the Coalition?”

 

Then a laugh.

 

“You think we’re Coalition?” The person sounds humored, and hearing him speak more, Hongjoong realizes: it’s not a slur but an accent. “That’s adorable.”

 

Joong coughs, asserting himself once more,“Regardless of your affiliation, we  come in peace and have no business with you, so if you would kindly-”

 

“I’ll kindly do whatever the  _ fuck _ I want-”

 

“Language!” A voice, much quieter in the background chides the speaker. The person closer to the input groans, and though Hongjoong only sees an audio wave, he can tell they’re rolling their eyes. A few utterances are exchanged, but nothing discernible through their speaker.

 

“As I said, I can do whatever I want, so why don’t you lot kindly ‘come in peace’ and hand over that pretty ship of yours, yeah?”

 

Wait.

 

What?

 

They want ATEEZ?

 

“Wha-”

 

“Hand over the ship real nice-like, and nobody gets hurt. Probably.”

 

“B-”

 

_ “Click.” _ The line goes dead before Hongjoong can get out another syllable.

 

Stunned silence fills the bridge thick, like a heavy cloud. When he finally overcomes the wave of dismay threatening to drown him, the captain speaks.

 

“Hide,” Hongjoong orders the others. “Just. Hide.” It’s all he can think of for now. It’s the best he can do. They’re getting pulled in closer with every passing second, and their ship is likely to become part of some gangster’s collection soon.

 

“No,” Jongho says. “No we can- we can fight this. We’ve gotten out of tough shit before.”

 

“That’s an order” Hongjoong’s eyes drift to the ship. It’s a long, massive thing, and part of its hull is above them at that point.

“Captain-”

 

“Go to your room, and- and let me think,” Hongjoong commands. He nods to everybody behind him, “All of you.”

 

“But-” “Captain-” “I can help.”

 

“You three, go. You stay,” He nods to the two at the pilot’s console and Yeosang. After more grumbled protest, Jongho, Mingi, and San hesitantly retreat to their rooms.

 

Having gotten much closer, Hongjoong can see a hangar in the distance. Its gates are wide open, waiting, beckoning them forth. Ire and dejection burn in his chest. He turns to those around him, wordlessly begging for any ideas.

 

Wooyoung leans forward, “That- that can’t be right.”

 

“What? What is it?” Hongjoong asks, jumping on the statement probably more enthusiastically than he ought to.

 

“You see those words up there-” Wooyoung points toward the top of the viewing window, to the warship hull stretching out above them. Finally close enough to make out what looked like vague markings, Hongjoong reads aloud:

 

“Stray… Boys? Boyz- with a Z?”

 

“Wait- isn’t that a gang?” Yeosang creeps forward, ducking to get a better vantage out the window. “But that’s not what they’re called. They’re just, like, The Boyz or something - right?”

 

“Uh- yeah, but- no,” Wooyoung corrects the cyborg. “This is Stray Kids.”

 

“It clearly says Boyz- like The Boyz.”

 

“Okay Boyz is after Stray, though, like Stray Kids.”

 

“Maybe Stray Kids sold this ship. To The Boyz.”

 

“Stray Kids are pretty damn cutthroat. I don’t think they’d just sell a giant ship like this.”

 

“So The Boyz stole it.”

 

“That’s not their style- plus, they’d never be able to take Stray Kids head-on.”

 

“But it says right there, ‘Stray Boyz’- so aren’t you  _ both _ wrong?” Yunho comments.

 

Hongjoong looks at the painted letters again. In faded paint, he sees the letters spelling out: Stray Kids. However, in a much darker, fresher coat, the word Kids is covered with twirly letters reading: Boyz.

 

“Looks like whoever captains this ship fancied some redecoration,” Hongjoong observes. “The paint for the second part is a lot newer.”

 

“Ha!” Yeosang smirks satisfactorily. “Told you. It might’ve belonged to Stray Kids, but it’s The Boyz now.”

 

“Okay, I feel very out of the loop right now,” Yunho says. “Who the fuck are these guys? Like- How have we never heard of them?”

 

“They’re gangs.” “Gangs.” Yeo and Woo answer at the same time. They exchange looks and a nod, nonverbally giving over explanation duties to Wooyoung.

 

Wooyoung sighs, watching the hangar get closer nervously as he speaks, “These guys tend to run operations in big colonies, so it’s not surprising you’ve never heard of them. I’m… Acquainted.”

 

Joong quirks a brow at that.

 

“Just worked as an external intermediary from time to time!” Woo adds sheepishly. “Look- Okay, I dunno who’s actually pulling us in, but you better pray it’s The Boyz.”

 

“Why’s that?” Hongjoong asks.

 

Wooyoung sighs, explaining, “The Boyz deal in mostly white collar crime. As far as gangs go, they’re pretty prim. They deal with, like, smart stuff. Hacking banks, running illegal gambling circles, information trafficking and facilitating illegal trading- that sort of thing. I heard they’ve even got some geniuses who, like, develop drugs and mod weapons for a hefty fee. They’re cutthroat in their own way, but… Kinda proper. Probably the biggest organized crime syndicate dedicated to white collar stuff. They employ violence as they see fit, but it’s not a default, you know? They don’t like dirtying their hands.”

 

“Uh, sure,” Joong replies without really knowing. “So, that means, Stray Kids…”

 

“They’re, uh, basically the opposite. Kind of a rough lot. I’ve dealt with them, personally, and they’re, uh, friendly. A little rough around the edges.”

 

“They deal in… What, exactly?”

 

“Oh, you know. Drug trafficking. Contracting out their own as mercenaries and bounty hunters. Arms augmenting and dealing. That’s their big thing- augmenting and hacking GC weaponry, plus moving ballistic guns. They’re big on that,” Wooyoung breathes out anxiously.

 

“Wait- Ballistic? As in bullets- silver and lead?!” Hongjoong’s jaw drops.

 

“Yup.”

 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” The captain wrings a hand through his hair.  _ God _ does he hope they’re not getting pulled in by those guys. Even the GC doesn’t default to fucking ballistic weaponry anymore. It’s mostly lasers, phasers and stunners for them. They’re bastards, but even they don’t stoop that low. Ballistic weaponry is the stuff of actual  _ barbarians _ . Unlike lasers, there’s no option, no way to choose between how harmful you want to be. The best case scenario is immense physical affliction. That’s it. At least the GC pretends to give a shit and stuns first. Hongjoong shudders at the thought of getting pierced by an actual bullet.

 

“Yeah, like I said: let’s hope it’s the flowery ones,” Wooyoung says.

 

“What the fuck do we do if it’s not?” Yunho asks, tail wrapped around his leg in terror.

 

“Right now, there’s only one thing we can do,” The captain sighs. “Wait.”

 

“Maybe they’ll be nice,” Yunho adds with hopeful optimism.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

They are not nice.

 

That’s the first impression Hongjoong gets when thugs swarm his ship like roaches, canvassing every nook and cranny. He’d instructed everyone to hide in their rooms, hoping that perhaps he could reason with their captors. Negotiate, even. Unfortunately, the second the ship had been dropped into the hangar, one of their people (either a Stray Kid or Boy, it’s still unclear) demanded they lower the ramp. Or else. The “or else” meant “or else you we will break in ourselves and shoot you in the face” - so, Joong felt inclined to comply.

 

The captain grits his teeth as people tear apart ATEEZ, dragging out each crew member one by one. He, too, gets grabbed by a person who looks younger than himself. It’s a pity, he thinks, how people are drawn into lives of crime at such a tender age. Hongjoong understands the irony at that, but he reminds himself that his crime is  _ different _ . It is - he  _ swears _ it is.

 

“How noble,” The raider who’d grabbed him snarks, “The faithful captain stays in the bridge ‘til the very end.”

 

“I’d like to work something out,” Hongjoong tries. “Just don’t hurt my crew, alright?”

 

“Psh- He thinks this is a negotiation!” The one with a hold on him snarks, laughing with a fellow thug, just as young. Their dress is rather… Eclectic if Joong had to choose one word. Lots of baggy fits, black and strange patterns. It does little to uphold his hope that they’ve been taken in by the white collar criminals. Not that Hongjoong knows how gangsters dress. He just figured that maybe the bougie ones would wear, like, button-downs or something. He realizes just how silly fussing over their clothes is when one of them notices the Compass.

 

“Whoa- The hell’s this thing?” The unencumbered raider raises his brows with curiosity.

 

“No- Don’t touch that-!” Hongjoong reflexively lunges toward his precious Compass. He’s yanked back into the other’s grip, a ballistic, bullet-loaded gun pointed at the small of his back.

 

“What? This thing valuable or something? It looks like some antique out of a fairytale book…” The thug mutters, leaning down to get a closer look.

 

“It’s- It’s not valuable- so don’t touch it.”

 

“I dunno I think- I mean the way you’re talking about it, sure seems valuable- don’t you think?” The thug snickers, asking the one holding Joong.

 

“I think so. Seems like something we ought to get a closer look at. Bet one of Sangyeon’s boys would know what the hell it is- they seem to like antiquey shit.”

 

“Think that’s a good idea,” The one by the Compass smirks. Hongjoong struggles to get free, gun be damned, but the other’s grip on him is strong.

 

He watches futilely as the gangster reaches for his Compass.

 

“I’ll take thi-”  _ “Zzzrt-!” _ “Ffuc-!”  _ “Thud!!” _ There’s a sudden discharge of electricity, then the boy’s body flies, colliding with the wall behind him.

 

Hongjoong’s eyes blow wide open.

 

“What the fuck?” The captain’s captor gapes.

 

“Urgh… Iunno, but, fuck that. I’m leaving it,” The one who’d gotten thrown across the bridge winces as he gets up.

 

“No shit,” Joong’s attendant replies. Hongjoong shudders at barrel of the gun pressed up against his back. Lasers are fast and effective. Bullets are excruciating and rely on the person bleeding out unless they’re deliberately aimed. Hongjoong doesn’t plan on dying anytime soon, but, when he does he sure as hell does not want to go like that. “You, with me now.”

 

Hongjoong resignedly finds himself dragged down the steps and eventually led out through the loading ramp. There, he’s met with the sight of his fellow crew all lined up and on their knees, each with their own personal escort. Wait. He notices something different, something off. He counts: one, two, three, four, five, six… Seven? There’s one more hunched over on his knees like the rest of them at the end of the line.

 

Hongjoong supposes he shouldn’t be surprised - they swept the ship. But how the hell did they figure out the security code to his cell? Maybe they threatened one of the crew members, suspecting they’d stashed away one of their own on purpose. Hongjoong scowls, guts roiling with dread and utter loathing as he’s pushed onto his knees next to his most favorite person: Petty Officer Park Seonghwa. The PO gives the captain a wide-eyed glance. He looks borderline manic with those fake baby-blues blown open like that. Luckily, he doesn’t say anything. Hongjoong swallows down the bitter lump in his throat.

 

The hangar is massive - open with just a few more ships parked and a couple levels of grated walkways around the perimeter. It’s surprisingly bright, big lights bouncing off of almost pristine white walls. The white interior, the simple - almost barebones - design. Joong wonders if this ship had once belonged to the Coalition. Not that it matters much. It’s theirs now.

 

The open space makes for echoey acoustics, and the general cacophony of gangsters buzzing about with their days work fills Hongjoong’s ears with a hum. It’s crawling with thugs. They seem to come in all shapes and sizes, but they’ve got one thing in common: their youth. Whether it’s Stray Kids or The Boyz - the moniker is apt. Nobody looks older than twenty-five among them. In his peripherals, Joong sees raiders filing in and out of his ship. Tough shit for them, he thinks. Save for the apparently dangerous Compass, they’ve got little of value. He wishes he could jump after them, command them to stop, hell tackle one of them down.

 

But the gun at his back tells him different. 

 

Instead, he grits his teeth and looks beyond the PO to check on the people he actually gives a shit about. He’s grateful seeing that they all look okay. Or - as okay as they possibly can be. They’re all exchanging glances, asking questions to one another without words.

 

Suddenly, the dull hum of activity halts.

 

All the worker bees present stop what they’re doing and stand properly, at attention. Hongjoong tears his gaze away from his beloved crew and follows the raiders’ gazes. Down the long metal staircase running down the opposite wall, two figures descend slowly. Lackadaisically, even. Like they’ve got all the time in the world and not a single care.

 

That must be the leader and his right hand, Hongjoong thinks.

 

He swallows nervously, steeling himself for when the two eventually arrive. They take their time, and it’s agonizing, watching the young ringleader and his confidant greet every single person they happen to pass by. The closer they get, the better Joong can hear one of them. He’s got wild wavy hair, dyed a silver tone with a flash of blue on the ends. The clothing fits and, as Joong hears more, so does his voice. 

 

He’s the one who’d answered their call.

 

The leader.

 

His assistant, in stark contrast, has well-kept, smooth looking brown hair. His getup’s crisp, white, and tailored while the leader’s got a baggy jacket and a plethora of heavy looking chains around his neck. Talk about contrast.

 

Finally, after what feels like ages, the two stand front and center before ATEEZ‘s crew (and their prisoner). It’s the silver-haired one who speaks first- but it’s to the brunette, not to ATEEZ.

 

“How’s that song go again?” The leader asks the other.

 

“What song?” The brunette raises his brows.

 

“Y’know- that classical piece. The Christmas one-“

 

“What do you mean ‘that classical Christmas one’ there’s- there’s loads of ‘em-“

 

“You know, the only one that matters,” The ring leader looks at the other like he’s a moron (though, if someone judged by looks, he’d definitely seem to be the dumber of the two).

 

The brunette rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh, “You mean Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’?”

 

“God- Yes- That’s the one. Ancient piece. Absolutely genius, that. How’s it go-“

 

“Chan, how is that relevant?”

 

“How is it relevant?” The leader - Chan, apparently - asks rhetorically. His voice raises to a shout,“How is it fucking relevant?!” His bellow echoes so loudly across the massive hanger that it makes Hongjoong’s ears ring. The brunette winces, shaking his head.

 

Chan elaborates, “It’s relevant, because-“ He gestures to ATEEZ’s crew, “-it’s  _ fucking Christmas _ , Yeonnie!”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you: call me Sangyeon-“

 

“You’re gonna nitpick my nicknames for you on  _ Christmas _ ?” Chan asks incredulously. Hongjoong’s first impression of the leader is that he’s a little looney. Or just very enthusiastic about Christmas.

 

“Why do you keep saying that?”

 

“Oh, you want to know why it’s Christmas?” Chan looks up to regard all the onlookers standing on the walkways above. A massive grin stretches across his face, and he yells so his voice echoes again, “I said boys, do you want to know why it’s  _ fucking Christmas _ ?”

 

“Yeah!!” The response is loud and unified. Boyz or Kids or whomever they are hang over the railing, watching the spectacle beneath unfold. 

 

God.

 

The sheer number of them. And just in this one space. Surely there’s more stationed in every corner of the massive warship. How many? Hundreds? A thousand? It terrifies Hongjoong to contemplate.

 

“Well,” Chan, exhilarated by the attention, smiles, “That’s because we’ve hit the mother. Fucking. Jackpot boys!”

 

Another round of rowdy cheers ring out in response from the thugs all around. Sangyeon, the right hand or assistant or whomever, simply claps with a tight-lipped grin.

 

Chan shouts, “Gather round, boys and kids alike, and let’s see what Santa’s put under the tree, yeah?” He plods over to the end of the line, the far side from Hongjoong, and stands in front of Jongho. Jongho meets the ringleader’s gaze with his brand of quiet fury. The boy fears nothing, Hongjoong’s come to learn. 

 

Chan gestures behind himself, “In our first box we’ve got- uh, let’ see this one-“ Out of nowhere, a massive projected screen pops up behind the leader like it’s a damn arena.

 

Hongjoong’s heart drops onto the floor when he sees what’s on the screen. It’s a mugshot. Jongho’s, to be precise. Accompanied by some information: name, age, appearance, last seen, crimes wanted for and, there it is, followed by an insane amount of zeros: the bounty. It occurs the Hongjoong that he never learned why Jongho had been taken in all that time ago, and his heart somehow manages to sink further upon seeing the charges.

 

Aggravated assault and battery. He got violent with someone. Allegedly. Jongho’s a strong kid, and Hongjoong imagines that being in the wrong place at the wrong time could’ve ended badly for him.

 

A little red exclamation point accompanies the data, and next to it in bold letters is the word “DANGEROUS!” - exclamation point and all.

 

His bounty?

 

$10,000,000 credits alive. $100,000,000 dead.

 

Unbelievable.

 

Choi Jongho is the youngest of them all and, in Hongjoong’s opinion, possibly the brightest. He seems like the type who had it all, had a bright future ahead of himself and a nice upbringing. There’s a sort of effortless unshakableness he has that makes one think: this kid can do anything in life, and he’ll succeed. He’s kind, reliable, funny, and strong.

 

And all of that’s gotten reduced to a couple of numbers. One for alive, another for dead. That’s it.

 

That’s what Jongho is to the Coalition, anymore. Ten mill alive, a hundred dead. Not a person, not a soul - ten or a hundred, depending on the condition he’s in.

 

Hongjoong has to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. He casts his eyes down, unable to stomach the damn image any longer. 

 

On the contrary, the gawkers and watchers love it. They’re not too unlike the Coalition. They see numbers, and they cheer at the thought of getting them. Hongjoong realizes: that’s just Jongho.

 

“That’s right- Choi Jongho!” Chan announces excitedly. He laps up the hoots and hollers like the attention’s the finest wine he’d ever tasted. “Dangerous criminal escaped from KQ’s high security holding block- congrats on that, by the way, that is not an easy feat. And that’s not even our first present!”

 

“Yeah!” “Merry Christmas!!” “Fuck yeah!” “Fantastic!” The excited yells rain down from the catwalks above.

 

God.

 

This is humiliating. Humiliating and terrifying.

 

Hongjoong hasn’t felt so dehumanized since, well, since getting arrested in the first place. Fuck. He’d almost take one on one time with the Petty Officer over this. Almost.

 

The thought makes Joong wonder where he’s at. He must think he’s separated from all this, what with him being Coalition. But these guys don’t seem to like the GC either. Is  _ he _ even safe? Hongjoong doubts it.

 

Chan goes down the line, showcasing each member of ATEEZ much like Jongho. Surprisingly, the bounties vary. Jongho’s the only one who’s worth more dead than alive - and his sum is exorbitant, really. Hongjoong wonders why, but he opts not to dwell on it. Yunho’s living bounty is the highest. San somehow actually gets recognized as a siren. Hongjoong is shocked. Even more shocking is that it’s Sangyeon who points it out. He even orders San to be gagged, the crafty bastard. Yeosang, though bountiless, is assured that he’s got “something extra special in store” which really sets Joong’s teeth on edge. And, once again, Sangyeon spites the captain when he recognizes Mingi, citing him as “perfect hostage material”. Disgusting.

 

The leader only stops briefly in front of PO Prettyboy, looking him up and down contemptuously. Hongjoong can feel the pure, unfettered fury radiating off of Seonghwa. It’s almost palpable, the fury scarcely contained inside of him. Even though he’s not the one with a price slapped on his head, he’s furious. Chan grunts and passes over the platinum blond without so much as a word, finally reaching the end of the line: Kim Hongjoong.

 

“And here we have our little stocking stuffer,” Chan coos tauntingly. Hongjoong practically jumps at him right then. 

 

His mug shot pops up and it’s not pretty. He remembers that day all too well, the abruptness of it all, the way blame got heaped upon him by the very man kneeling next to him now. Funny how things change.

 

“I told you. I’ll go willingly if you let them go,” Hongjoong tells the leader when he’s got his attention.

 

Chan’s brows raise high with a mixture of incredulity and amusement, “Say what-?”

 

“Just take me. Let them go with the ship and you can turn me in. Alive or- or dead,” Hongjoong doesn’t break the leader’s gaze for a second.

 

He hears a snort, a voice mutters, “For fuck’s sake.”

 

But it’s not from the leader, who simply seems entertained by the appeal.

 

It comes from the one next to Hongjoong, the one who’s in just as sorry a situation as he. Joong turns to glare at Seonghwa, whose shoulders shake with repressed laughter.

 

Seonghwa, as if sensing the captain’s gaze on him, returns it. He shakes his head and says, “You’re really a piece of work, you know that Kim.”

 

“We managed to escape your jail and evade your people,” Hongjoong replies.

 

“Barely,” The PO hisses through his teeth.

 

“These guys don’t nearly have the numbers and organization.”

 

“But they’ve probably got ten times the weapons.”

 

“We’ll figure it out. This time, without the dead weight,” Hongjoong snarls, making sure he drives the point home that Seonghwa is the dead weight.

 

“Please,” Seonghwa scoffs, “Spare me. I may not get out of this alive, but at least you’ll finally get what you deserve.”

 

“Shouldn’t you be frothing at the mouth over all the crimes they’re committing or something?”

 

“Enemies of my enemies.”

 

“Fucking- Unbelievable-“ Before Hongjoong can spew any more curses at the PO, a gun digs into his back.

 

“Up,” The raider behind him demands. Hongjoong complies. Apparently, Chan had finished with his spiel - not that he was paying much attention. The captain isn’t interested in decorating his intestines with lead, so he obliges.

 

Hongjoong shoots the PO another dirty look - more for his own satisfaction than anything, and he’s surprised to see the other is still looking at him.

 

“Good riddance,” Seonghwa says in parting before he’s shoved forward roughly. Hongjoong gasps when he sees a sack thrown over the PO’s head, but before he can warn the other, one’s thrown over his head, too.

 

The fabric is thick, and everything goes black. All Hongjoong can do is follow as he’s roughly led up an innumerable amount of steps and through long, winding corridors.

* * *

 

 

Hongjoong hikes about a quarter hour (or so he guesses) before the fabric’s yanked off his head. He gasps, taking a deep breath of fresh (well, processed) air. It’d gotten stuffy in that thing. Light floods his vision, and the captain winces as he acclimates to it. 

 

Immediately upon regaining his senses, he tries to analyze his surroundings. It’s a long cell block, so it seems. Cells line the hall left and right, almost identical to the ones in ATEEZ’s own brig. Hongjoong searches each one they pass.

 

Empty.

 

Empty.

 

Empty.

 

Empty.

 

They’re all empty. He doesn’t hear anything indicating the proximity of his crew, either. No talking, no humming, not even snoring.

 

Shit.

 

“What do you plan on doing with us?” Hongjoong asks the mug dragging him along.

 

The gangster doesn’t give so much as a grunt - just keeps moving forward.

 

“Y-Y’know, some of us are worth more alive than dead,” Hongjoong tries. It’s pretty thin, but he’ll do anything to buy him time. He tries not to dwell on the price over Jongho’s head, apologizing to the youngest in his head.

 

Joong still doesn’t get a response.

 

“Not much of a talker, huh?” Hongjoong asks. At this point, he just wants to goad something out of the guy. Provoked people tend to spill a little more than they ought to, and he can use information right now. Hell, he doesn’t even know what gang took them in.

 

A lightbulb flickers on in Hongjoong’s head:

 

What gang is he in?

 

It sounds stupid, but he wonders: can he just ask?

 

He tries, “So, you’re, uh, one of those Boyz, then?”

 

For the first time since starting the trek to wherever he’s being held, his attendant stops. He halts without warning, and Joong practically tumbles over his feet. It’s his captor’s firm grip on his shirt that keeps him upright, and for once (and only once) Joong’s thankful for that.

 

Quite a reaction from someone who’d spent the entire time doing his best statue impression.

 

Interesting.

 

“Do I look like a fucking priss to you?” The thug breathes out angrily. He starts walking again.

 

Seems like a no to Hongjoong, but why the tone?

 

“U-Uh, no?” Hongjoong ventures. He gives the other a quick assessment. Obnoxiously bright, ill-fitting-tee, dark, baggy pants with entirely too many pockets, a dozen piercings - he certainly does not look like a priss. He barely passes for an upstanding member of society. 

 

“ _ No _ ,” He answers emphatically. “Just gotta cohabitate with them in lieu of this merger.” He sounds transparency vexed. “Chan let ‘em join us on the ship in lieu of the merger and whatnot.”

 

“M-Merger?” Gangs? Having a merger? Like some conglomerate? It sounds absolutely ludicrous to Hongjoong, especially given that the two are (or were?) apparently very powerful standalone entities.

 

However, suddenly everything makes sense. The stark contrast between the two assessing ATEEZ’s crew, the sheer number of people aboard the warship, the slapdash paint job spelling out “Stray Boyz”. It all makes sense. For some mind-boggling reason, two very,  _ very _ different organized crime giants thought it prudent to merge. The reasoning is beyond Hongjoong. In spite of his appearance, he’s never had any involvement with organized crime, and he sure as hell isn’t interested in it now.

 

“The fuckers come on here, put  _ plants _ everywhere, tell us we ain’t clean enough- on our own damn ship,” The thug grumbles. His grip on Joong’s shirt tightens, and he starts shoving the captain even more roughly. 

 

Hongjoong swallows nervously. Apparently, he’d incited a rant session, and while he’s all about people being forthright about their feelings, this is not what he’d had in mind. At least the information’s good, he tells himself. That’s a decent silver lining.

 

“Wait, they came onto your ship? Your leader had them live with you?” Hongjoong spurs the other on (even though the increasingly rough treatment is starting to irk him).

 

“Yeah! Like- Why can’t we’s just be business affiliates?” The gangster scoffs. “No. I dunno what kinda deal they split - Chan and Sungyeon - but they are us and we them now. Some real hippie hand-holding shit. Had to shift around half of our operations to give those fruits fuckin’ space. Whole labs given over so some emo cunt can work on forging paintings for fuck’s sake. Not to mention that loony scientist. The fucker’s gonna blow this place up, it’s just a matter of time...”

 

Oh god, the captain laments internally. He’d really gotten this guy going. Judging by his crew members’ argument, the merger is a fairly recent development. Adding his angry escort’s testimony to his pool of information, seems like the merger is quite the point of contention. It’s interesting and, in the best case scenario, very exploitable.

 

But how?

 

“Ah, here we are,” Suddenly, the Kid’s tone uplifts. 

 

Hongjoong doesn’t like that one bit, “Wha-?”

 

The two approach a cell almost toward the end of the cell block. As it comes into view, Hongjoong’s heart drops. He realizes: before doing anything else, before knowing if anyone else is even okay, he’s gonna have to figure out how to get out. He swallows down his dejection, putting on an air of assured composure. Like getting thrown in jail (again) is no big deal, just another obstacle, a minor hurdle in his journey to hunt down Treasure. Like he’s not screaming inside, wailing in sorrow and sobbing at the thought of his possibly hurt brothers god-knows-where on the ship.

 

Nope. 

 

He’s cool.

  
_ Totally _ cool.

 

“Welcome home,” The gangster snarks, dragging Hongjoong toward the cell.

 

Joong looks inside, and his blood freezes.

 

He is not cool.

 

He is  _ not cool _ .

 

“No,” Hongjoong blurts out despite himself.

 

“Wh- No?” His escort snorts incredulously.

 

“No,” Joong shakes his head, eyes wide as unparalleled dread grips his heart in a vice. “No. No, no, no-”

 

“Wh- There is no ‘no’, you don’t get a choice in this.”

 

“There’s-” Hongjoong digs his heels in willing the other to stop. His heart writhes in agony, “-there’s so many empty cells-”

 

“Privacy’s a privilege not even the crew of this ship gets,” The guard snarls, using his free hand to punch a code into the cell door.

 

“No- Please-” Joong doesn’t know what sanity is. He’d had it just a minute before, yet it feels like a distant memory. He supposes that’s the effect the other has on him.

 

Brooding in the corner of the barren cell is the one person in the universe who, somehow, always manages to rob Hongjoong of any sanity he has. Without fail, the blond steals his breath -  _ not _ in a good way. Even sitting in a damn cell, on a gangster warship, after being bound, manhandled to god knows where, and thrown in a cell  Park Seonghwa looks unaffected as ever. He stares into the corner nonchalantly. Like he’s just zoning out during a commute to work. Somehow (seriously,  _ how? _ ) his hair remains perfectly in place.

 

“Shouldn’t you be ecstatic? Getting to share digs with your little friend and all.”

 

“Please,” Hongjoong throws his dignity out the window, grits his teeth and begs. “Please just- any other cell than this one.”

 

His fucking Majesty Park Seonghwa finally spares the lowly captain with a glance of acknowledgement - as if he hadn’t heard them coming halfway down the hall. Not like sound doesn’t bounce ceaselessly in the metal box they’re floating in. All he does is roll his eyes before deciding that something on the nearest wall is more interesting than the struggling Hongjoong. Figures.

 

The gangster pushes Hongjoong in through the open door of the cell, and by reflex the captain catches himself on the sides. 

 

“You fuckin’ kidding me right now?” The thug scoffs. He delivers a swift kick to Hongjoong’s back, but the captain, stubborn, clings to the bars of door frame stubbornly. “Wh- Come the fuck on. Get in-” He kicks Hongjoong again, this time with legitimate force.

 

Pain shoots up from the base of Hongjoong’s spine, the point of impact, and he stifles a yelp. Still, he determinedly holds on. He figures that maybe if he’s enough of a thorn in the ass, he’ll get what he wants. His bounty is higher alive than dead, so they probably won’t kill him.

 

Probably.

 

“God what a waste of fucking time!” The guard punctuates his word with another kick, and this one does it. Hongjoong lets out a choking noise, taken aback by the hurt. His body succumbs, tumbling forward, and not a second later does the door slide shut with a loud thud. 

 

The thug huffs, shaking his head, “Fuckin’ weirdos.” With that, he walks off. 

 

Hongjoong’s got half a mind to call after him and beg. Not many things are worse to him than being imprisoned, but being imprisoned with Petty Officer Prettyboy? That’s one step above death. A half step, perhaps. The exasperation drapes itself over Hongjoong like a thick, heavy cloak. He crumbles beneath its weight, curling up into himself and scooting into the farthest possible corner from the other. The captain actually has to physically clutch his chest to wrest himself. He feels like his heart is trying to fly out of his mouth - make some great escape to somewhere better. Somewhere far, far away from him.

 

Somewhere that he can find the others.

 

The captain hugs his knees close, venting all of his resentment and bitterness and despair with the tightness of his grip. He gazes off into the distance and just thinks. Thoughts whir through his head hectically. Where is Yunho? Where’s San? And Jongho and Wooyoung and Mingi and Yeosang? Are they okay? Are they together or have they been broken off into little pieces, too? Have they tried to do anything to Jongho? Is Mingi scared? Will he hate them for this? Despise them for bringing him - someone who’d had a whole life ahead of him - into this situation? What about San? How is his ankle doing? What if they’ve made it worse?

 

What is there to do?

 

How are they going to get out of this?

 

How the hell are they going to get out of this?

 

The two sit like that in utter and complete silence for a long, long time. It’s at least an hour, maybe two. To Hongjoong, it feels like three - but that’s probably just because of the company. Joong dozes in and out for a few brief instances. His lapses in consciousness last no longer than maybe fifteen minutes or so. Every little sound rouses him awake from the restless sleep, prompting him to be on alert, waiting for something or someone.

 

Nobody comes.

 

When Hongjoong is almost certain they’re crawling closer to hour four than three - after one somewhat successful nap - his will starts to crack. He dares to venture a glance across the cell. The Petty Officer seems to be nodding off. His head lulls forward before snapping back up a second later. The process repeats itself a few times, until he finally succumbs to the sleep his body’d been begging for. Something about the sight is comical to Hongjoong, and he has to suppress a little chuckle.

 

It’s not that the captain didn’t think Seonghwa slept. In his mind, he knows that, logically, of course the twat sleeps. How else would he have all that energy for insulting the crew, promising his revenge, and using witchcraft to assure his hair remains perfectly in place? Still, it’s not something that Hongjoong had ever really thought about. Sure as hell didn’t go out of his way to  _ picture _ it. 

 

It’s just that Hongjoong’s used to seeing the guy a certain way. Park Seonghwa is typically wound tighter than a microscopic spring. He sits upright with his arms crossed and his brows knit together - by default. His tone is clipped at best and the slightest provocation causes his face to squash into an expression of disgust, like he’s smelled something rotten. He’s perhaps the most contemptuous, vindictive person Hongjoong has ever known.

 

But now he’s just… Asleep. Just like everyone else, he nods off too. And not in a dignified way, either. His (suspiciously rosy) lips hang open, and the way his head tilts forward makes his head limply falls to the wayside. It’s by far the most human Hongjoong has ever seen the man look. He’s not sure how he feels about that. There’s a feeling bubbling up inside him. It’s not… Happy or nice, but it’s not the familiar singe of hatred either. It’s almost sobering but not quite so straightforward. There’s a confusion in there, an uncertainty.

 

The best way he can sort it in his head is that: he’d never really looked at the Petty Officer as a human, as a real person with his own (non-pompous) thoughts and feelings. For the first time since meeting him back in that cramped interrogation room, he does. The man across the cell doesn’t look like Petty Officer Prettyboy. 

 

He looks like Park Seonghwa. 

 

And Hongjoong doesn’t like that.

 

The gravity of that line of thought isn’t something the captain can handle right now. Not when there are people he actually, undeniably cares about are in danger and god knows where on some giant warship. The captain curses internally. He tries to redirect his thought to one thing:

 

There has to be a way out.

 

Has to.

 

But how? That’ll require getting a guard to cooperate. They’re probably not open to bribery, and they’re clearly not interested in cutting a deal. The only thing Hongjoong can think of is that merger. His mind keeps going back to it. There’s conflict there. Something exploitable. The Stray Kids seem hot-headed - will they snap if provoked? But how? Time is not on the captain’s side, either. Not with the uncertainty regarding the rest of the crew’s condition. 

 

He bites down on his lip in concentration, running scenarios through his head. No matter what course of action he takes, he’s gonna need to wait for his captors to come back. When will that be? In minutes? Hours? 

 

Days?

 

Lost in his thoughts, it takes Hongjoong a few minutes to feel the pair of eyes boring into him. He takes pause and glances beside himself.

 

Seonghwa - now very much awake - locks eyes with Hongjoong.

 

While Hongjoong wishes he could say he’d looked away immediately, that’s far from the truth. The other’s beryl gaze tangles with his own. Joong feels like carelessly walked through brambles, and now he’s stuck, tangled in the thorny vines of the other’s discernment. Hongjoong tries to swallow, but his throat feels dry. Seonghwa appears to be in a similar situation. His posture is locked up tight, but not in his typical, confident and condescending stance. It’s like he’s frozen. A gawking deer in the headlights.

 

The awkwardness rolls in like a thick fog, and it quickly starts suffocating him. Heat surges to the captain’s face, no doubt flushing his ears. His gut reaction is to say something, but what? And why? His flight instinct encourages him to run, but there’s nowhere to run. And so he just finds himself utterly stuck. The quiet is deafening. For a second all worry and dismay floods from his head, all thoughts of his crew, plots for escape - everything, it just vanishes. Intense, visceral discomfort fills him to the brim. It wriggles beneath his skin sickeningly.

  
But he can’t stop staring.

 

It’s probably only been a minute or two, but it feels like ten to Hongjoong when finally the silence is shattered.

 

“What are you staring at?” Seonghwa bristles, tensing slightly. 

 

Oh good, Joong thinks, he’s feeling like himself again.

 

Hongjoong huffs, “You were the one staring.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I turned my head and you were just- just looking at me,” Joong shudders at the thought. What the hell was running through the PO’s mind when he was ogling the captain? Joong isn’t sure he wants to know.

 

“I- I just happened to be looking in that general direction.”

 

“Right. Because there’s so much to see,” Hongjoong illustrates the statement by gesturing the wall to him. A few panels of flat, white metal. Simply stunning.

 

“I wasn’t really looking at the wall. I was just- my eyes were there.”

 

Hongjoong gives the PO another sideways glance. He assesses the situation for an instant, weighs the risks, the pro’s and cons of pissing off the petty officer for fun.

 

“No, it’s okay,” Joong snarks, “You’re obsessed with me, I get it.”

 

“I- I’m what?” Seonghwa lets out a choked noise somewhere between a guffaw and a gasp.

 

“I’m a scorpio, I understand I have that effect on people,” Hongjoong shrugs with a smirk.

 

Seonghwa rolls his eyes so exaggeratedly, Joong half imagines they’ll just roll completely into the guy’s skull. Unfortunately, Joong doesn’t get to witness the gruesome sight. Eyeballs completely in place, the PO just fires back in his usual, impassive, patronizing tone. 

 

“You mean utter repulsion? Or the intense, overwhelming disappointment I feel on behalf of your parents- oh wait. They can’t be disappointed. They’re  _ dead _ .”

 

“ _ Wow _ ,” Hongjoong breathes out incredulously. “Right for the dead parents, huh? You’re right, my parents can’t be disappointed in me, but… Yours can. Sounds like you’re projecting.”

 

“Tch. As if I’d ever project myself onto someone like you.”

 

“Someone like me? You mean the person who’s kept your ass clothed and fed even after you tried to kill my crew?”

 

“What do you want? A thank you letter for- for what? Basic human decency? You  _ captured _ me. And now you want me to kiss your ass for not being disgustingly inhumane?”

 

“You put your lips anywhere near my ass, I’ll kill you.”

 

“God-” The PO’s face wrinkles with disgust. “You have my permission at that point.”

 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes,“We did what we had to in order to survive. You didn’t have to stow away, jackass.”

 

“And let you get off scot free? Over my dead body.”

 

“Yeah, well, news flash: the majority of actual lowlives would’ve thrown you out into space without a second thought. You were a threat. Still are.”

 

“If I’m such a threat why not just dump me somewhere already? You could’ve left me on Venus, or that space colony...”

 

“What, so you can turn around and drive the dagger into our back before we get out of the system? Do you really think I’m a fucking moron?”

 

“ _ Well _ ,” Seonghwa shrugs facetiously.

 

Hongjoong scowls, “Should’ve left you on Ubureru.”

 

“Oh, you mean the planet where you picked up the siren? I’m shocked it hasn’t killed you all.”

 

“It?” The fires of the captain’s temper lick up his insides, scorching him. He wants to lunge at the other for that. Calling San just an “it”. Hongjoong clenches his teeth and reels back the furor. He’s not gonna be the one losing his cool, he tells himself. Not this time. Letting out a tired sigh, Hongjoong replies:“It is just a  _ shock _ that nobody’s come looking for you, you know that?” 

 

“Your ship is difficult to trace,” The PO responds.

 

“You really think that’s what it is?” Hongjoong snorts in spite himself. “An organization that employs  _ millions _ around the entire universe - that has access to the  _ highest _ technology - doesn’t trace one measley ship. You think that’s because they can’t or they _ won’t _ ?”

 

“You know nothing of the Coalition’s inner workings.”

 

“Do you think they really give a shit about you?” Hongjoong ignores the other’s deflections. “I mean- All those bounties, you saw back there, but… Nothing about the missing in action petty officer.”

 

“I don’t have a price on my head,” The PO bites back bitterly.

 

“You are one of millions to them. Replaceable-”

 

“I am not-”

 

“Disposable.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re-”

 

“Expendable.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“They probably already pronounced you dead,” The captain shrugs. “Cut their losses, dole out whatever pension you earned to your parents-”

 

“-Shut up.”

 

“-you know, they’re probably better off without you,” Hongjoong says. Typically, extended conversation with the other wounds him, but at this point his nerves are shot. He’ll take the petty satisfaction he can get from riling the other, consequences be damned.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I’m serious. I mean, they get your wages. I’m sure the Coalition had a really nice little service for you. They get to tell their friends stories about how you died-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“-in duty. That’s considered honorable among you blackcoats, right?”

 

“Shut  _ up _ .”

 

“Dying for the cause.”

 

“You know  _ nothing _ of honor,” Seonghwa snarls.

 

“But I do know about death,” Hongjoong bites back. “I’ve seen it happen in an instant, and I’ve watched it rot someone from the inside out over the course of years. Do you  _ know _ what that feels like? Ever seen that behind that little desk of yours?”

 

“I-” The blackcoat starts the way he always does: irritatingly cool and malicious. But, then, he halts. Shockingly his expression falters. The pristine facade of aloofness softens. Something flashes in his eyes. It’s just a glint, a memory passing through his mind like a train through a station.

 

“I don’t have to deal with this,” The blond finally barks back - but there’s not nearly as much bite. It makes even the captain take pause. What did the other remember? 

 

What had he seen?

 

Seonghwa lets out a long sigh and huddles into his corner of the cell, turning his back to Hongjoong. Apparently, he’s had quite enough of their little banter session. Good, Hongjoong thinks, he’s done, too. He’s more than done. Mirroring the other, he turns his body so he faces the wall head-on. It’s beyond boring - nothing but white, smooth metal. The surface reflects just enough that Hongjoong can see his own reflection - well, at least a sort of shadowy abstraction of it. 

 

Dull pain persistently knocks inside Joong’s chest in wake of their back and forth. The captain frowns, hugging his knees close again. Soon, the pain sort of dissolves, transitions into a general feeling of hopelessness. Quiet once again reigns supreme in the jail block. Though it feels no more comfortable than it had prior, it’s all much more welcome

 

* * *

 

Wooyoung heaves a sigh. He nudges the passed out youngest with his boot. Nothing. After getting a sack over his head, he’d gotten dragged to- well, to somewhere. He heard a momentous struggle around him. It felt familiar, almost deja vu, and Woo thought: it  _ had _ to be Jongho. Some yells about “stick the needle in” and “we need backup” later, Wooyoung found himself in a cell with a knocked out cellmate.

 

Same shit, different cell. 

 

Looking to his left, Wooyoung sees Yunho twiddling his thumbs. He looks lost and distant. Usually he’s the one lifting everyone up, a tireless force of positivity. Now he just sits uncharacteristically still, brows furrowed like he’s thinking about something hard. Probably an escape.

 

Good on him, Wooyoung thinks. He’d given up an hour ago. At least on the whole brute-force approach, anyways. Clearly, force won’t work given that Plan J (Jongho, obviously) has been in dreamland for the past threeish hours. Woo’s still not a hundred percent certain as to who their captor is. Stray Kids or The Boyz? His hope is that it’s the former. While they are more cutthroat, he holds onto the meager hope that his work with them in the past may curry favor.

 

After reaching that conclusion, he’d gotten sort of bored. It’s just the three of them. There. In the cell. Yunho staring. Jongho snoring. The gang’s all here, Wooyoung thinks to himself. The only one missing is Hongjoong. Then they’d really be the OG jailbreak gang. 

 

Too bad he’s not there, though.

 

Wooyoung frowns.

  
Where is he, anyways?

 

He could use a dose of the captain’s quick thinking right about now. No doubt he’d cook up a plan to escape fast. It would be something daring and risky, yet just within the realm of possibility. They’d make it because, somehow they just do.

 

No, Wooyoung corrects himself.

 

They make it because  _ that’s what they do _ .

 

Together the seven of them are unstoppable, he tells himself. They’d defeated seemingly unbeatable odds before. They can do it again. Wooyoung doesn’t know how, but with the others they can. He just knows they can. Woo glancing across the cell, and his heart sinks. He’s confronted with the sad truth: right now, they’re  _ not _ together. 

 

So what’s that mean for the three of them in the cell? 

 

And what about the other four?

 

Worry gnaws at the insides of his chest as he thinks about them. He hopes they’re okay. The stress makes him feel about twenty times worse, and he quickly grows antsy. He twiddles his thumbs and bites his lip, shakes his leg a bit. Suddenly, the cell feels smaller, more confining than before. Wooyoung tries to find comfort in his company. To one side there’s Jongho, still knocked out - what the fuck did they stick him with, anyway? 

 

To the other there’s Yunho. Tail limp to the side, gaze zoned out. Fussing does nothing for Wooyoung’s sanity, so he nudges the canis.

 

“What’s on your mind?” Wooyoung asks. He immediately berates himself. What a stupid question. Of course there’s one thing on the other’s mind: being trapped.

 

“The others,” Yunho answers softly. He looks over to Jongho, and his frown deepens.

 

Wooyoung heaves a sigh. So much for getting his mind off of worrying.

 

“Me too,” He admits.

 

“God,” Yunho wrings a hand down his face, “San, Yeosang, Joong, Mingi-  _ Shit _ . Mingi’s probably terrified right now.” He clenches his fists in his lap. “Somewhere on this ship.”

 

“Hey- Hey, it’s gonna be alright, okay?” Wooyoung scoots closer to the humecanis, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “We’re gonna find a way to get the hell out of here?”

 

“How!?” Yunho snaps. His bark echoes loudly down the corridor. “Shit- sorry, I just-”

 

“No, it’s fine. This isn’t exactly an easy situation,” The younger human sighs, glancing over at Jongho.

 

Nope. Nothing. He’s still out.

 

Woo can’t help thinking this would be easier with the captain around. Hongjoong has a way with words that calms people, assures them. Though he’s just a few years older and a few centimeters shorter, there’s something almost paternal about him sometimes. And, in the most dire of times, he mystically manages to come up with risky yet apt plans on the fly.

 

What would  _ he _ do? 

 

What would Hongjoong say?

 

Wooyoung also believes he himself has a way with words. A way to either piss a person off or get their pants off. (Or, upon a few rare occasions, do both.) Unfortunately, pissing someone won’t help them. Neither will getting them to take their clothes off.

 

Woo jolts up like he’d been electrocuted.

 

Could that be it?

 

“Whoa- The hell?” Yunho grunts, startled by the sudden movement.

 

“Yunho, we’ve gotta get out of here.”

 

“W-Well yeah, but how’re we gonna do it?”

 

“Well,” Wooyoung puffs his chest out a bit and straightens his jacket, “We’re gonna use the only thing we’ve got.”

 

“Which is…”

 

“Our charms.”

 

“Our- what?”

 

* * *

 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve-

 

Twelve knicks on the lower-left panel of the east wall. At least, Mingi thinks that’s east. He’s dubbed it the east wall. It’s east relative to him, and that’s what matters. After all, he and San are the only ones in the otherwise deserted cell block.

 

The Venusian used to sneak down to the catacombs to explore the dungeons as a kid. He thought it was cool. He’d gawk at the bindings and contraptions, the empty cells and, once - just once - caught himself just meters away a (sleeping) prisoner. He feels foolish, looking back at it. To think that to condition of entrapment had been something amusing to him, a curious thing to explore. 

 

Never in his life had he anticipated being behind the bars of a cell, let alone thrown into it after being blinded and threatened at gunpoint.  _ Ballistic _ gunpoint.

 

Needless to say, his day unfolded rather unpredictably.

 

Mingi prides himself on a lot of things. He’s well-coordinated and well-proportioned. He can speak two languages and recites poems from memory. He is not, has not ever been, and will  _ never _ be a brave man. Moments like that acutely highlight that reality to him. He’s counted every damn countable thing in his vision just to avoid a complete meltdown. His fingers, his toes. The rows of laces on his boots and the bolts keeping the fold-down cot attached to the wall behind him. When he’d tired of counting the bars after count twenty-one or so, he got desperate and started finding specks of dust and, yes, knicks and dents in the walls. Surprisingly, there aren’t many - not that the fact gives Mingi any comfort. 

 

He turns to San again, once again attempting communication with the poor siren. A noxious sensation of guilt fills Mingi upon seeing the other. What right does  _ he _ have to be so distraught when San is the one who’s been really mistreated? The thugs threw a sack over Mingi’s head and threw him into a cell. Sure, they treated him roughly, but they didn’t do what they’d done to San.

 

The siren frowns - or at least Mingi thinks he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell with the peculiar mask apparatus fixed around the other’s head. Metal cables coil from where San’s ears are to his mouth. They all feed into a metal panel where his mouth ought to be. What’s behind that seemingly innocuous metal panel, Mingi doesn’t know. His guess is it’s some sort of silencing mechanism. The only sounds Mingi’s heard from the other since getting tossed into the cell is the occasional choking noise. He vaguely recalls hearing someone mention a gag when San had been identified. Whatever they’d fit the siren with, it’s working effectively. It sure as hell is far from a rudimentary cloth tied around the mouth, and there’s no way that it’s a recreational one, either. They  _ tried _ to get the thing off. Mingi broke a nail, and San nearly made his bleed in an attempt to pry the infernal device off of San’s face. Of course, they had no luck.

 

“Are you alright- I mean, well, as alright as you can be?” Mingi asks the other softly.

 

San’s throat twitches, and he squeezes his eyes shut. In spite of the tears dotting his eyes, he nods in affirmation. He scoots closer to Mingi and squeezes his hand. Mingi squeezes back - probably too hard - venting his panic, his frustration, his fear.

 

Then, against all odds, San smiles. Well, his eyes do, anyways. Mingi returns the grin with an expression of wide-eyed shock because what the  _ hell _ is there to smile about? The siren gently grabs Mingi’s wrist, urging the Venusian to release his vice. Confused, Mingi obliges, watching the other carefully. 

 

San lifts Mingi’s wrist until the Venusian’s hand is flat, facing palm up. Delicately, the siren traces a finger over the other’s palm. It tickles, and the sensation makes Mingi jump at first. 

 

“Wh-?!” Mingi gasps. Reflexively, he tries to yank his hand away, but the siren’s grip tenses. Mingi meets the other’s gaze again. This time, it’s earnest. It disarms the Venusian, and he lets San continue doing… Whatever it is he was doing.

 

San repeats the gesture - traces a finger over Mingi’s palm. Mingi’s brows knit in confusion. What’s going on? Is this madness? Brought on by space? Perhaps the apparatus around his mouth is depriving him of oxygen.

  
San does it again.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

He keeps on doing it, sometimes pressing more firmly. He just swirls his finger over and over and over again. Why? What does he gain from just pressing his finger again and again in the exact same pattern.

 

Wait.

 

Mingi’s eyes widen when it dawns on him: that’s it. He’s not just tracing his finger around mindlessly. He’s communicating. 

 

“Wait- Do it again,” Mingi asks the other. San’s eyes squint happily, and he nods, repeating the gesture again. Mingi pays extra close attention, watching the other’s finger dance over his palm.

 

“Three…” The Venusian murmurs. 

 

San shakes his head insistently. No, that’s not it. He tries again.

 

“Three- B. It’s a B,” Mingi answers. San nods, his eyes reducing to slits as he bounces happily. In spite of everything, the Venusian can’t help grinning. San’s smile is contagious like that.

 

San draws another shape in his hand.

 

“Is that an- an E?” Mingi asks. San nods, moving onto the next quickly. Mingi repeats them, one after the other. “B… E… That’s an- an A. B, E, A… T…?”

 

After a few minutes, Mingi starts wrapping up the message, “I… E… And… D?” He tilts his head in confusion, piecing the traced letters together:

 

BEATSGETTINGMARRIED ?

 

He blinks.

 

B E A T S.

 

G E T T I N G.

 

M A R R I E D.

 

“Beats… Getting married?” Mingi meets the siren’s gaze with incredulity. “Are you serious?!”

 

San’s body jostles - a reflex from laughing, probably - but not a sound comes out. His eyes squint with mirth regardless.

 

“San-! How are you- how are you joking right now?!” Mingi heaves an exasperated sigh. “You went to all that effort just to- to-  _ why _ ?!”

 

The siren deflates a bit, backing off sheepishly. Another pang of guilt shoots through Mingi’s chest, but he swallows it down. Now is not the time to be joking… Right? God knows what’s happened to the others, not to mention their sorry predicament. Why would he want to mess around now?

 

Never mind that it’s sort of funny in a dark way. Mingi supposes that had he remained on Venus, he’d still be trapped. Just in a different way. Of course, the accommodations would be much nicer, now wouldn’t they?

 

San reaches out, poking each side of Mingi’s mouth with a finger.

 

“Wh-” The Venusian doesn’t get out a response before the siren stretches his lips up into a forced smile.

 

Oh.

 

_ Oh _ .

 

“You wanted to make me smile?” Mingi asks, his tone soft. San nods. The Venusian flashes the other grin; it’s weak but authentic. It warms his heart that the other recognizes his stress and tries to alleviate it. Mingi’s pretty sure he’d have curled up into a ball and sobbed himself to exhaustion if  _ he’d _ been fitted with some freaky silencer mask. The only reason he hadn’t done that anyways is because San’s there. Meanwhile, the siren’s thinking about making  _ him _ feel better. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Mingi apologizes. He doesn’t know what else to do. Really, is there anything that can be done? His heart dips with helpless guilt. Literally anyone else would be more suited to help out San. But Mingi? The prince? (Well, former prince). He knows about a lot of things, but none of them including breaking out of jail or unlocking metal gag mechanisms. “I can’t do anything to help you.”

 

San shakes his head as if to say, “It’s no problem.”

 

The Venusian forces himself to think. There must be something he can do. Something. Except, he doesn’t have exceptional strength like Jongho or experience like Wooyoung. If they were trying to impress at a high society dinner, maybe he’d have some tips. But a prison escape? Hell, he’d settle for just giving San some comfort. But no matter how strong a face the siren pulls, Mingi can tell the other is in pain. It’s that  _ thing _ \- Mingi knows it is, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to remove it. It locks around the other’s jaw seamlessly, leaving room for not so much as a nail between the gag and San’s skin. It’s a damn shame, too, because San’s gift is probably the crew’s best shot at getting off of the warship in one piece.

 

Heaving a sigh, Mingi slams a fist against the wall next to him. It’s frustrating. Myriad reasons played into the highblood’s decision to leave home; however, they all distilled into a single point: on Venus, he felt powerless. He knows it’s a contradiction, to feel powerless at such high rank. Many would call him ungrateful, and Mingi can’t wholeheartedly dispute that assertion. Still, that’s how he felt, and no amount of privilege or wealth could’ve changed that. He left home because he wanted agency, because he no longer wished to be confined by convention and expectations. He didn’t want to be trapped.

 

And yet he’s found himself in that exact situation. Trapped - though with barriers much more literal than the ones that had surrounded him at home. That doesn’t make the situation any less vexing, though.

 

Mingi pounds his fist against the floor again, biting down on his lip as ire rises in his gut. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. Just as he’d begun to get to know the universe, he’s just shoved into another box. They’re not far from his own people - they want to use his status for their own gain, their own agenda. Not only that, but they want to use his friends, too. Turn them in for a bounty set by a broken system.

 

“This is bullshit, San,” Mingi hisses under his breath, his vision turning red. He bangs the floor again. “This is- this is bullshit-” When he lifts his fist again, San intercepts it. He looks at Mingi concernedly, as if telling him to stop.

 

Mingi yanks his fist away, “No, I’m not gonna calm down or stop. Not- not until we find something, some way to- to-” He lowers his fist onto the metal floor below, and it hits with more force than he’d intended. Pain shoots up his wrist and makes him wince. The echo of the impact makes his ears ring as he shakes his hand out. 

 

“Okay, maybe I should- I should calm down a bit,” Mingi sniffles. “Shit- Who do I think I am, Jongho?” San reaches out to give Mingi’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Nonverbally, he says: “It’s okay”. Mingi almost reflexively apologizes again, but he stops himself. At the very least he can stay positive for San’s sake. He might not have a lot of latent talent or useful skills, but if he can help the other cope, it’d make up for him looking like a moron and almost breaking his hand.

 

“Yeah I’ll just, let’s just-” Mingi scoots closer to San and loops an arm around his shoulders. The siren seems to like skinship. “Let’s just… Settle down.” 

 

San shimmies a bit, nestling himself in the Venusian’s arm comfortably and leaning his head against the other’s shoulder. Mingi sighs again.

 

The two sit like that for awhile in near-silence. Occasionally, Mingi mutters something vague and neutral, just to let San know he’s still awake and sane. Maybe a dumb joke here, an observation there. He even gushes about Yunho a bit - he knows San loves to tease him about his crush, and the siren glows upon hearing it. He prattles on about the canis until he realizes that he has no idea where Yunho is or what his condition is. Then he’s a bit too sad to go on, and it goes quiet again. One-sided conversation seems to placate the other which relieves Mingi. Under different circumstances, he’d quite enjoy lounging around with the other like this.

 

But they’re not at home on ATEEZ, draped over the couch or lounging on someone’s bed. They’re in an enormous warship crawling with gangsters who can’t wait to cash in on their various bounties. Well, at least Mingi thinks it’s crawling with thugs. He wouldn’t know. He hasn’t seen one in ages.

 

“What do you think they’re doing?” Mingi nods down the cell block. “Nobody’s come in hours.”

 

San shrugs.

 

“Wonder what’s keeping them so busy. Criminal stuff, I guess,” The Venusian purses his lips in displeasure. “Still, it’s crazy. It looked like there were so many of them, but shit- what kind of far corner are we in? I haven’t even heard people walk by. Seriously, not a sound. It’s kind of...”

 

Mingi halts.

 

That’s it, he thinks.

 

That’s it.

 

He raps his knuckles the floor beneath him. San gives him a bewildered look, but Mingi ignores it. He knocks on the ground again, and the noise echoes, carrying down past cell after cell until finally diminishing. He balls his hand into a fist and bangs it against the nearby wall. It’s hollow on the other side, and once again it makes a noise that bounces across the cell block. He fans out his fingers, feeling the vibrations through the metal in the wake of the force applied.

 

“Sound,” Mingi mutters again. He turns to San, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, “That’s it- sound!” San’s eyes blow wide open. He clearly thinks Mingi’s gone insane. Maybe he has. 

 

Or maybe he’s just thought of their way out.

 

“Okay- Okay, listen,” Mingi says frantically. “Sound. That’s our way out. Sound!” San doesn’t comprehend and continues to look at Mingi like he’s grown a second head. The Venusian explains.

 

“Okay, look, I- I don’t know what kind of teachings you have where you’re from but- well- it’s not- it’s not that important, but- um- sound is- is just vibrations in the air.”

 

Though not entirely convinced Mingi is of his right mind, San nods in understanding anyways. Mingi continues, tripping over his words in a fast, rambling tone as he elaborates:

 

“And- and okay- you know, um- frequencies, right?” San nods again. “Right- So, well, I don’t know if you know, but, um- every object has what’s called a resonant frequency. It’s like, well, to put it basically, it’s like an object’s natural frequency. And- and if you can match an object’s resonant frequency, you get resonance, right?”

 

San nods, though he doesn’t look like he’s following Mingi’s point.

 

“When- when two objects resonate,” Mingi holds his hands up in front of himself and shakes them, “When their frequencies match, they- the object- they match vibrations. You are a siren. You have the most powerful,  _ potent _ voice of  _ any _ humanoid- hell of any living creature - right?”

 

San quirks an eyebrow. He’s interested. 

 

“I- I don’t know exactly how that gag thing is working, but… Can you still get vibrations through your throat.”

 

San lifts a hand to his neck, and his gaze shifts away for a moment in contemplation. After thinking about it, he gives a nod: “Yes”.

 

“San, I think if you can find that- that thing’s resonant frequency and pass the vibrations through your throat to the best of your ability,” Mingi nibbles his lip anxiously, “I think you should be able to destabilize it enough to get it off.”

 

San’s hands shoot to the gag apparatus. He digests Mingi’s words before responding in gestures. He taps in front of his mouth and stretches his hand out. 

 

Perhaps it’s indicative something coming out of his mouth? His voice?

 

Then, the siren, points the gag again, then makes a jabbing motion toward the back of his throat. 

 

Something going… In?

 

Mingi frowns,“I, I don’t understand, can you-?”

 

San lets out a huff through his nose and tries again. He repeats the same pantomime. Something coming out. Something going in. Mingi follows along this time:

 

“Something… Leaving your mouth-” San makes a flapping noise with his hand. “-talking? You talking?”

 

San shrugs and nods. Apparently, the assessment is adequate. He then pushes his finger back.

 

“Something… Comes back?” San shakes his head. He presses his finger against his chin and draws it down to his throat, poking. “Something going… Down?” San nods. He makes the movements again, this time simultaneously. One hand fans out, suggesting his voice or words or talking coming out. The other almost violently jabs back toward his throat.

 

“Wait- so- Something comes out and then it goes down?”

 

San rolls his eyes and smacks his forehead with his palm. Still, he doesn’t alter the motions, urging Mingi to keep guessing.

 

“Um- So- The voice thing, that’s right, yeah?” San nods. 

 

So it’s just the second half Mingi can’t interpret. His brows furrow and his face scrunches as he attempts to piece it all together. Voice comes out, but his voice is… Put back in? His motion is sort of jerky, forceful. His voice is forced back in?

 

Or maybe it’s not his voice at all.

 

“Wait-” Mingi says. “Your voice… Comes out, so- When you try to talk-” San nods insistently, “-it- it- the gag forces something back in? Like it chokes you?”

 

Ding, ding, ding!

  
San’s face lights up, and he nods fervently, clapping a bit. He repeats the gestures again, altering the swiftness a bit, and Mingi starts to slot more and more together.

 

“I think I get it. It responds to your attempts to speak. So, the longer your mouth is active- trying to speak, the more it- it chokes you. God- That’s terrible.” That also explains the pain San’s in. He probably moves his jaw on reflex, and every time he does even that, this thing’s prodding him with god knows what sort of metal apparatus. 

 

“Then- then I guess trying to match the frequency isn’t an option…” Mingi replies despondently.

 

San shakes his head fervently.

 

No? 

 

“What- But you just said that it hurt. We are not gonna do this if it’s gonna hurt you-”

 

San ignores Mingi’s words and grabs his wrist. He places the Venusian’s hand on the device, and - looking him straight in the eye - points to the gag.

 

“Wh- You want me to- to-” San makes a grabbing and pulling motion. “You want me to pull it off while you- you-” Mingi shakes his head. “No, no, that’s- that’s gonna hurt you. This thing could choke you or something. It’s not worth it.”

 

San’s eyes lock with Mingi’s, and everything goes quiet. The low hum that Mingi thought was the lights grows. That’s when Mingi realizes: the siren already begun. Mingi watches the other’s throat move. Unfortunately, the mechanism remains solid, completely unshaken. Literally.

 

San’s breathing grows ragged, and tears well up in his eyes. He his shoulders tense and shudder.

 

“San, stop,” Mingi tells the other. “San, stop-”

  
San shakes his head stubbornly, blinking the tears out of his eyes. He pauses, and for a brief second, the agony seems to stop. However, just as quickly as he’d put it down, he picks his efforts back up again. It’s so strange, watching the silent struggle unfold. To Mingi, all he hears is a vague buzz, but on San’s face is painted an immense effort.

 

A wet, squelching noise squeezes out from San’s throat, causing panic to spike in Mingi’s chest. When Mingi glances at the other’s face again, he sees trails of wet tears streaming down his face. He’s choking.

 

“San, stop,” Mingi says. San shakes his head. “San, stop- it’s not worth it- the chance is not worth- worth choking or whatever pain you’re going through-”

 

San’s body lurches, and his eyes squeeze shut. He throws his head back, his chest heaving, and continues trying. 

 

“San st- holy shit,” Shockingly enough, Mingi starts to feel it beneath his fingers. It’s weak at first, the resonance, but the cool metal in his hand begins to tremble ever so slightly.

 

The siren’s face begins to go red, and veins pop out on his forehead and neck from exertion. Once faint, the hum grows into something louder. The tone sounds so strange. Mingi wonders if that’s because it’s being intonated by a siren or because he can hear the exact same tone resonating from the mask below.

 

Tears roll down San’s face, making Mingi fuss even more. He catches something at the corner of his gaze - San’s throat moving. Watching the lump move down, down, slowly down, it occurs to him that an Adam’s apple doesn’t have that kind of mobility. That apparatus is diving deeper and deeper down into his throat.

 

“San- San you can stop now- it’s okay-” Mingi panics. Seeing the other red-faced and fighting through the pain distresses him more and more. In spite of Mingi’s insistence, San stubbornly trudges on. The hum gets even louder. It fills Mingi’s ears, and the device he’s gripping starts vibrating wildly.

 

It’s actually working.

 

Mingi is in awe of the power of San’s voice, but he shelves all of those thoughts and questions for later. He refuses to let San’s effort be for nothing. Nervously, Mingi poises both hands on the apparatus. The sound of metal clinking and pieces jostling joins the now loud, echoing buzz surrounding the two. The Venusian pulls gingerly.

 

His jaw drops as the device loosens. It barely budges, but it moves. 

 

“San- San just a little more, okay?” Mingi tries to soothe the other. He knows his words are meaningless. Can San even properly hear him? He’s not sure, can’t even begin to imagine it, really.

 

Other noises start to leak out from San’s throat as the device loosens. They’re far from good - strained cries and choked whines. The agony spurs Mingi further, and soon gentleness is thrown to the wayside. Using all this strength, the Venusian attempts to pull the infernal gag off. Bit by bit, it slides. At first, just a millimeter at time.

 

San’s cries grow louder - both a good sign and a horrific thing to witness. Mingi grits his teeth, tugging with all his might. The device jerks up a few centimeters. Then a few more. It’s really working.

 

“Just- Just a little more,” Mingi pants from exertion. Damn, the thing is tight. Luckily, he’s no pushover himself, and sure enough, he starts making progress. “Just… A little… More…” He urges the siren. The back of the thing is almost halfway up the other’s head. It vibrates so powerfully, Mingi feels the reverberations in his bones. The sensation is profoundly odd, something Mingi labors to ignore in favor of just pulling.

 

“Just- A- a little… More-” Mingi huffs. He can feel it, the metal slackening, too compromised from the matching frequency to retain its stable form. The resonance rings loudly in Mingi’s ears, and he wonders how the hell nobody’s come to see what the hell is happening yet. The sound ricochets off of one metal surface to the next, almost deafening. Taking a deep breath, Mingi steels himself for one final, forceful pull.

 

“Okay San, I’m- I’m gonna pull hard so- just… A little… More!” He tears the thing off.

 

The second it’s clear the back of San’s head, it flies out of Mingi’s hand, across the cell. It clatters loudly against, the floor - not that Mingi gives a shit.

 

San coughs violently, doubling over. Tears fall from his eyes, and his body jerks and heaves in the wake of being choked. Mingi rushes to hold him. He’s not sure what else he can do save for let the other catch his breath. When San’s coughing finally dies down, Mingi assesses the other’s condition.

 

He looks a mess. Trails of tears streak his face, and saliva runs down his chin. The device left a deep impression on his skin, even bruising in a few places. His lips look chapped, and rusty red blood dots the edges.

 

“Oh my god- are you okay?” Mingi asks. “W-Well, I mean, how… Okay are you? I- I know you’re not-” San presses a finger to the Mingi’s lips, silencing him. The siren wipes his chin on his sleeve and nods.

 

For the first time in hours, he finally speaks, “I’m alright.” His voice sounds raspy and hoarse, but it’s there.

 

Relief floods Mingi, and all the tension that’d worked itself up into his body vents. His shoulders slacken, and he lets out the pent up breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

 

“Thank god,” Mingi pulls the other into a hug.

 

“Mingi- Please-” San chokes out. Mingi immediately relinquishes his grip, giving the other a sheepish half-grin.

 

“Sorry,” He apologizes. “I’m just- I’m so relieved. At least I was able to help one of us out.” He frowns. “Too bad we don’t know where the rest of them are, though. Let’s- let’s not dwell too much on it now. I think you need to rest a bit.”

  
San shakes his head, “No. I can’t rest knowing the others are just- just somewhere on this ship in- in god knows what condition.”

  
“San, I understand. Trust me I- I spent hours thinking about them- you, too, obviously- but, you just got that thing off of you. Plus not long ago your ankle got snapped like a twig. I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

 

“I’ll rest when we’re all back on the ship and out of here.”

 

Mingi frowns, “Yeah, but- but how? I mean, it’s just the two of us. How do we- how do we even know where to start? We don’t know where we are, how many of them they are, technically don’t know who they are or where our ship is right now.”

 

“Okay- Mingi, I- I don’t know those things either, but,” San raises an eyebrow and glances down the hall, “I think I know where we can start.”

 

“Huh? But- But-” Mingi follows the other’s gaze. All he sees is the same thing he’s been looking at for hours: nothing. An empty cell block lined with empty cells (save for one, of course).

 

“Plug your ears the best you can,” San tells the other.

 

Mingi feels ashamed at how long it takes him to put the pieces together. How could he forget so quickly just who he’s sharing a cell with? Especially after the feat he’d just pulled off. 

 

San is a siren. A being that Mingi used to believe was nothing but a fairytale.

 

“But, San, after that, can you-?”

 

“Plug your ears,” San cuts the other off insistently. “We don’t know how much time we have. I’m not waiting, so plug them.”

 

“But-”

 

“Plug them.”

 

Mingi reluctantly obliges, watching the siren wearily. 

 

San shuts his eyes and takes a few breaths. It’s almost as if he’s meditating, preparing himself, preparing his song. When he blinks his eyes open the air around him changes. All of the panic and pain from before melts away, and he puts on an expression of serenity. Slowly, the siren rises to his feet and slinks over to the bars. He leans against them and opens his mouth. 

 

Mingi stuffs his fingers into his ears. He can’t discern the words coming out of San’s mouth, but he can just make out the lilting tone. Even with the blockage, Mingi can understand how captivating it is. His own worries begin to dissolve, drowned out by the sweet notes leaving San’s mouth. He feels his mind begin to wander, begin to lull, and immediately shoves his fingers in harder. 

 

He is  _ not _ interested in being put into a trance. Mingi has no idea precisely what happens to one beckoned by sirens, but he’s afraid to find out. Not that he thinks it’ll be anything  _ bad _ . He knows San would never hurt him. It’s just that, all the scenarios in his head end up being  _ incredibly _ awkward.

 

Mingi watches and waits. He expects to wait awhile. Ten minutes. Perhaps up to an hour. After all, how likely is it that someone will hear San, really? They could be anywhere, from dead center of the ship to the farthest back corner by the propulsors.

 

The Venusian’s jaw drops in shock when he hears footsteps down the hall. He gawks, watching two gang members rush toward them dazedly. They trot toward the cell with intense desperation, like their lives depend on it. In seconds, they reach the cell, clamoring for San. 

 

One practically slams himself against the bars in front of San, gripping the metal like a vice, “Me Felix, hi.” He blurts out in an accented voice.

 

San lets out a bubbly chuckle.

 

“Just ignore him,” The other - another blond - says. He’s dressed more colorfully in a dandelion yellow hoodie while the other - Felix - is clad in monotones. “I’m Eric, by the way. At your service.”

 

The siren gives a flirty wave. Mingi’s jaw drops in utter disbelief. “At your service”? Did he just say that to a  _ prisoner _ ? What the  _ hell _ ? Even more baffling is how the two somehow don’t notice Mingi at all. It’s not like he’s exactly small. He certainly doesn’t blend into the white metal of the cell. Yet, neither spare him so much as a glance. They don’t even breathe in his direction. The pair of jailors are utterly transfixed.

 

“I have a few grievances about my captivity,” San replies in a deep, velvety tone. Even  _ Mingi _ feels seduced. Only for, like, a second, though. He swears up and down apologizing to Yunho in his head even though Yunho’s god knows where and probably doesn’t give a shit and oh god is he okay? Is Yunho okay? Hopefully they haven’t touched his tail. He hates it when a person does it without consent - as he should! Mingi wishes he could just know that Yunho’s okay. God, how nice it would be to just nuzzle up to him and pet his head while San cons a couple of thugs into working for them or something.

 

“Grievances?” Felix’s nose scrunches. He whispers (not very quietly) to Eric, “What’s grievances?”

  
Eric chuckles, flashing San a grin, “What’s grievances- he’s- he’s cute, isn’t he?”

 

“Simply adorable,” San responds. Mingi can’t help noticing the way the siren strokes one of the bars he’s leaning on slowly. Suggestively. The Venusian feels even dirtier when he catches one of the thugs watching San do that to the bar. Good god.

 

“Now, um- I-” Eric leans in close and lowers his voice (not that it helps, everything echoes), “I really shouldn’t extend any special courtesies to you, but-” His eyes dart to San’s hand just. Casually stroking the metal bar. Completely casually. “-I’m open to mutually beneficial negotiations.”

 

Felix roughly shoulders Eric to the side and interjects, “I know Eric uses a lot of big words but, trust me, he’s overcompensating.”

 

“Does that mean you won’t even hear me out?” San asks, putting on an adorable pout.

 

“No!” “God- No-!” The two yelp simultaneously.

 

The siren puts on a little, coy grin as he replies, “Thank you so much.”

 

God. What a sight to behold, Mingi thinks. He’d never seen San like this. Normally he’s such an energetic goofball. He titters and jokes and plays pranks on the other members of the crew. This San, though, this is  _ calculated _ . Everything, down to the tiniest of details, changes. He carries himself to look slightly smaller but entirely open, available - yet just reluctant enough to prove a menial challenge. When he looks at the two, he only looks at each one at a time, and he looks through his thick, dark lashes with a sort of smolder. And his voice, god, his voice. It’s husky (even moreso after the struggle with the gag) and smooth. He also manages to imbue it with a sort of breathless desperation, like he needs to talk to these thugs. As if they’re the only people in the universe that can help him with his dilemma. He’s slinky and seductive to the point of being almost  _ greasy _ . But he wears it so well, he pulls it off.

 

“So, um, what is it?” Felix asks timidly. “What’s your, uh, your grief- grief- grievance?”

 

“We’d happily make you comfortable,” Eric adds. “Not for free, of course.” His gaze does another long, lackadaisical walk down the siren’s body. Classy, Mingi thinks.

 

San pretends to be affronted by the insinuation - but only slightly. Just enough to give off the impression of slight innocence. Of course, not nearly enough feigned offense to imply he  _ wouldn’t _ be willing to do what they want.

 

“I understand nothing is free,” San answers. “I just… The truth is prior to being here, I suffered an injury to my ankle.”

 

“Aw,” Felix replies worriedly. “What kind of injury?”

 

“I got tangled up with the Coalition and they… They snapped it like a twig.”

 

Mingi almost grins at the use of his phrasing. He’d be immensely amused by the entire scene if not for the horrific circumstances.

 

“God.” “I’m so sorry.” “Those bastards.” “Disgusting lot, they are.” “Terrible for business.” “Absolute savages.”

 

“Yes, well,” San gives them a pouty frown, “Recovery has gone alright up to this point, but this cell is just so uncomfortable. Good rest is crucial. As it is I’m in pain.”

 

“What- d’you want pain killers?” Felix asks. It comes across as drug-pushing, but his tone makes it sound like a legitmate question. “We’ve got all the good shit, I assure you.  _ Crazy _ good shit. Like- Druid hallucinogenic-”

 

Eric elbows Felix in the ribs, “We are well equipped with a variety of medication that may help. Would that be of aid?”

 

“W-well,” San nibbles on his lower lip. “I suppose it may help, but truly I think somewhere more comfortable to rest would be ideal. I wouldn’t wish to cut into your inventory. That’d be inconsiderate.”

 

“Well aren’t you a little gem,” Eric coos. Mingi wants to retch watching the other so shamelessly thirst for San. Then he remembers that time San told him how obvious he is about Yunho. He redacts his judgment. 

 

Felix asks, “How can we make you more comfortable, pet?”

 

“This cell is a bit too cold,” San holds himself and shivers a bit - an absolute showman. “And it’s quite claustrophobic, too.”

 

Mingi wonders if the other two have even noticed him yet. He doubts it, seeing the way their eyes hone in on San’s exposed flesh like predators watching their prey. Yikes.

 

Suddenly, the one named Felix fishes a gun out of - well, somewhere. Mingi doesn’t know (and doesn’t want to know) from where. The Venusian practically pisses himself when he hears the hefty looking handgun cock, and the gangster brandishes it triumphantly.

 

“I’ll take care of the air conditioning,” He points the damn thing toward the ceiling.

 

“Wh- Felix,  _ no _ ,” Eric tugs the other’s wrist down, glaring at him. “Sorry, he’s a bit, uh-”

 

“I’m right here,” Felix huffs.

 

Eric ignores him, directing his words to San, “Well, we can’t exactly make the cell bigger, but perhaps we can renegotiate your accomodations for the interim. At a price, of course.”

 

How canny, Mingi thinks. His mind’s on the money, this one - or, well, the “money”.

 

“I would do  _ anything _ for a warm bed,” San responds huskily.

 

“Now, we can’t just go giving bunks to our prisoners,” Eric responds. “Certainly can’t leave you somewhere insecure, either.”

 

San pouts, “Don’t you trust me?”

 

Just how delirious does the siren’s song  _ make _ people?! Mingi wonders.

 

“It’s protocol,” Eric says, feigning guilt - like shoving San into a (more) compromised position isn’t playing perfectly into his fantasy. Mingi wonders if this dude’s usually this much of a creep or if it’s the spell he’s under. He  _ prays _ that it’s the latter.

 

“Yeah,” Felix adds. “Chan’ll knock us over the head if we let any of yous slip away.”

 

“If security is an issue, you could just…” San pretends to think for a moment, “Tie me up.”

 

Felix lets out a choking noise, and Eric flushes beet red. Are they seriously falling for this?

 

“Please,” San breaths out. “I understand you can’t change my fate, but if I’m going to be turned in or cooped up, I… I just don’t want my last hours of freedom to be miserable.”

 

Felix’s brows raise,“And you are willing to do  _ anything _ for that comfort?”

 

“Anything,” San affirms. Mingi wants to choke himself. The sight is excruciating to say the least - watching two guards trip over themselves, lecherous thoughts painted on their faces vividly, so they can realize whatever lewd fantasies are running through their heads. All this because of a song? 

 

Mingi’s glad San is on his side.

 

Felix and Eric exchange looks. They back off for a couple of minutes, whispering to one another. In the meanwhile, San hums. It’s like a subtle reminder, fortifying whatever mind-bending, hypnotic force he’d employed in the first place. Finally, a decision seems to get made, and it’s Felix who comes to the bars again.

 

“C’mon then, pet,” He says, punching in the security code.

 

Holy shit.

 

He’s punching in the security code. All because he wants to fuck San, basically.

 

“Let’s get you a little more comfortable, yeah?” Felix spins his pistol idly as the door slides open.

 

Mingi stills himself to liken a statue. He’s afraid that any sort of movement will break the spell - will make them notice him. They’ve gotten so far, and he’s not interested in messing that up now.

 

San silently beckons the blond in with a finger, giving him a little smile. Like he’s got a secret that he wants to tell. Felix points to himself as if to ask: “Me?”. San nods, and Felix stumbles into the cell dumbly. Eric, clearly jealous, paces in after the other, brows furrowed.

 

San ignores him, focusing on Felix. All the while, Mingi cowers in the corner. Even when they’re not two meters away, the thugs still don’t even acknowledge him. He’s starting to feel offended. Or, well, he would if his life wasn’t hanging by a thread. But it is, and that thread is currently in the middle of a very important seduction at the moment.

 

The siren leans in and whispers something into Felix’s ear. Then, without warning, the thug’s body drops.

 

_ “Thud!” _ Felix’s body hits the ground with a loud noise that echoes down the block. 

 

Eric’s brow furrows, “Wait- What the-?” That’s all he manages before San yanks him by the collar and whispers something. “You… You…” Eric struggles to maintain consciousness, but Mingi can almost  _ see _ the stars dancing in front of the other’s eyes. The thug slurs,“You tricked…”

 

_ “Thud.” _

 

That’s two down.

 

Mingi gawks at San. He doesn’t know exactly what he ought to say after witnessing whatever the hell that was. He’d heard about the sirens as folk characters and gotten stories from the crew. Never had he anticipated that the mere sound of their song could devolve a human into… Well,  _ that _ .

 

San coughs, breaking the silence that had awkwardly bubbled up, “Please don’t, um- don’t tell the crew the, um, the details of-”

 

“I will never speak of this,” Mingi finishes the thought. Honestly, he wants to perish it from his mind. It was almost disturbing - not because of San’s ability, but because of the others’ pathetic, wanton behavior, really.

 

“Good, good,” San sighs, relieved. He returns to normal, tension leaving his body, tone reverting to that of his typical, casual self. “Right, well, um… We should um-” He points to the door.

 

“We should go,” Mingi nods emphatically, standing up. 

 

“Right, yeah, but- Wait,” San looks down at the two guards snoozing away on top of each other. They make a handsome couple, Mingi jokes to himself. The Venusian quirks an inquisitive brow at the other.

 

San elaborates, “We should take their clothes and see what other stuff they’ve got. Maybe we’ll blend in some more.”

 

“Right- Right! That’s a good call,” Mingi nods emphatically. Why hadn’t  he thought of that? He supposes he just wanted to focus on distancing himself as far as possible from the cell and the two passed out in it. Thank god for San. In spite of everything, he still remains clear of mind - it’s incredible. “We blend in, and then…” Mingi nibbles on his lower lip in thought. “Then we find the others.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” The siren agrees.

 

The pair rushedly throw on their captors’ outer layers and swipe everything that seems useful - guns, passage badges, communication devices. Mingi’s stomach knots and unknots itself in anticipation of what’s to come. He reminds himself that he’s got San by his side, and for that, he’s thankful.

  
He just hopes the others have someone, too.

 

* * *

 

A low noise enters Yeosang’s ears from above. The cyborg stirs. He’d been… Knocked unconscious? The memories leading up to his waking are hazy. He retraces his steps, trying to recall precisely how he’d gotten… Wherever he is.

 

The ship.

 

They’d taken the ship into that giant hangar the- the Stray Boyz. The Boyz? Stray Kids? Yeosang isn’t sure. Does it even matter? Probably not. The raiders lined them up and went through one by one, showing off ATEEZ’s crew like trophy game. Then it gets dark. Literally. Yeosang remembers the promise of “something special”, and he recalls struggling. They took him up some stairs, and he started to fuss. That’s just about when he really blacks out.

 

The cyborg blinks his eyes open to get a look at his surroundings. Vision proves disappointingly uninformative. All he sees above him is a darkness. He just barely makes out the glint of metal rafters in the lowlight. Except, they look like no rafters that Yeo had seen before. Any typical structure would arrange supports strategically to hold the ceiling up. Yet, these jut out and random angles and heights in every which way. Some are short and wide while others are long and narrow. Thick cables fall haphazardly from the darkness above and dangle between them. The obscured metal and rubber above him tangle like some metal forest canopy. 

 

Yeo reflexively makes a move to sit up, to see more, but the motion is cut off. The cyborg strains against the invisible force for a minute before managing to realize what it is.

 

The binds. He hadn’t even noticed before, but thick straps keep him in place on a hard, uncomfortable surface. Something seems to be attached to his head, too. A small node with a wire running from it, he guesses. A metal slab, he guesses, judging by the cool feeling against his skin.

  
Wait- against his skin?

 

That’s unfortunate discovery number two: his clothes. Or, more properly, his lack thereof. He’s not naked, at least. However, his jeans and shirt had been swapped out for a… A hospital gown, it seems. Had he gotten hurt? Yeosang doesn’t remember sustaining any nasty injuries. However, that would describe the dull pain resonating throughout his entire body.

 

Yeosang wiggles experimentally again, just testing the binds. He reaches up to try them with his hands. Except.

 

He doesn’t.

 

Wait.

  
What?

 

Yeosang tries again, but… Nothing happens. A profound, deep unsettlement delves a pit in the cyborg’s stomach. He squirms to get as upright as possible, straining his cybernetic eyes to inspect himself more closely. When he tries to swap to night vision, his vision field returns red error text:

  
“Unable to perform that function right now!”

 

What?

 

The ill sensation in his gut digs even further, sucking his heart down into the quickly growing abyss. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. But what? He can’t even see, and all there is to hear is some low, echoey hum. He makes out some remnant of light glowing just barely in his peripheral, but that’s it.

 

Struggling to sit upright again, Yeosang just barely manages to get tilt his head up. His eyes on their “natural” setting just begin adjusting, and he confirms his nightmare.

 

“Aah-” Panic strikes him like lightning. “A-aaah!” He screams. He can’t help it. He’s beside himself with utter horror. It’s the worst thing he could possibly imagine, the thing he’d strived so hard to avoid. Looking down at himself in the inky darkness, he understands precisely why trying to move felt so strange - and why his efforts to articulate his joints had been futile.

 

They’re gone.

 

His limbs are  _ gone _ .

 

Beneath his upper thighs and his left bicep there’s nothing. Nothing. Just the socket where his limbs should be. The one flesh hand he has is bound tightly to his body by straps, useless.

 

Tears stream down the frantic cyborg’s face as he cries out. He can’t help it, he’s no longer himself. Parts of him are missing. Parts of him that he’d labored so hard to create, to perfect, and to install. They’re gone. Taken. He’s usually so much more calm and calculating. Normally, he would try to assess every aspect of a situation, analyze it, run the possibilities through his head. But he can’t.

 

He’s frenzied, and his wails bounce loudly across the dark, empty chamber. His chest heaves unevenly with his hysterical sobs. He strains against the binds futilely, head whipping around in a feeble attempt at finding the parts of himself he’d lost. He’s met with darkness.

  
Darkness.

 

Darkness.

 

Nothing but darkness and shadows and black. Nothing. Where is he? Where are his augments? 

 

And where is the rest of ATEEZ?

_ “Brrrr… Shiff,” _ Something  _ below _ sounds out. Light filters into the room, he can just see it just underneath the slab he’s on. Underneath? Is he on a high platform? Yeosang’s gaze darts to the noise. 

 

He sniffles and tries to steady his voice, “Who’s there?”

 

_ “Click. Whirr…” _ A switch is flicked, and light abruptly floods Yeosang’s vision. He flinches, blinking to adjust. When his vision clears, he sees that his estimation of above hadn’t been far off. It truly did look like the viney canopy of a jungle. Metal beams jut out of the walls in every which way, interspersed with cables of various lengths and thicknesses, hanging down everywhere. The ceiling turned out to be  _ much _ higher than Yeosang thought - about six meters up, he estimates. Even more bewildering is the fact that, along the high ceiling there’s actually shelves and storage units bolted down. How the hell is that safe  _ or _ practical?

 

“Who’s- who’s there?” Yeosang’s voice is small, and he’d be embarrassed if he had his wits about him. But he doesn’t. Pride gets shoved to the wayside in favor of worry for himself and his crew.

 

“Hm, hm, hm, hm…” A low hum sounds out under Yeo. It’s not just a hum - it’s someone humming.

 

“H-Hello?” Yeosang calls out again.

 

The humming stops.

 

“Oh, shit,” The person mutters. “You’re awake?”

 

Yeosang wants to ask what’s going on or demand to know where the hell his arm and legs are. But he knows better than that. Whoever had walked in is obviously the enemy, and they won’t give anything up easy. The cyborg braces himself for- for something. He doesn’t know what. He starts wondering what bargaining chip - if any - he has that can get his limbs back. Or, more importantly, his crew.

 

“C-Can you let me down?” Yeosang ventures asking. He still has no idea what kind of person he’s dealing with.

 

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go up to you,” The person responds. They sound young. Male? Not particularly deep, though.

 

Yeo glances around. The guy’ll go up to him? With  _ what _ ladder? Yeo doesn’t see one anywhere, and the space is so cluttered, he can’t imagine someone would be stupid enough to use a hoverboard or anything comparable. Still, he hears the sound of metal bumping and groaning. The guy is climbing something.

 

Yeosang swallows nervously, laying back on the slab. Anticipation tosses his stomach every which way as the sound of his jailor somehow ascending gets closer and closer. He tries to think of what to do, what to say. Will he be a bastard or will he have a streak of humanity? Yeo’s not very optimistic regarding the latter. He shivers - in part from how flimsy his gown is and in part from nerves.

  
Then, he sees him.

 

Just in his peripherals, a dark, lithe form shifting up and about. Then the figure disappears. He loops behind Yeosang, unnerving the borg more. All he hears is sounds - thuds and clangs and clinks - all the while not knowing what the hell is going on. Is this how it ends? He briefly wonders.

 

Then, suddenly, from above of all places, the person descends.

 

Yeosang gasps, making a move to shrink away. Unfortunately, the straps over his body keep him firmly in place. All he can do is stare in wide-eyed terror as the person slowly lowers themself from above - like a spider spinning their web. Perhaps the most thick cable Yeosang has ever seen juts out from behind the young man. He follows the black and white striped thing. It almost looks like a pipe-cleaner, furry. What technical purpose could that possibly have? He wonders. And where the hell is that thing attached to the guy?

 

When the slender young man finally fully comes into view, Yeosang assesses him. His clothes are fairly utilitarian. It looks like he’s wearing coveralls, but the top half is tied around his waist, revealing just a tank top that he’d worn underneath. He is not wearing shoes, for some peculiar reason. Yeo can’t begin to wonder why. Instead, he dons strange, toeless socks. The cyborg doesn’t really care enough to dwell on it. His hair’s a deep almost violet color, and big, round goggles cover his eyes. He’s got a button nose and a little mouth. Nothing particularly distinctive. Nothing to betray his true affiliation. Yeosang at least feels relieved that the guy’s not big - but he knows he can’t underestimate an unknown enemy so easily.

 

“Holy shit,” The jailor murmurs. The furry cable coming from behind lowers him even closer to Yeosang.

 

The cyborg cringes, wishing he could meld into the workbench beneath him, because the jailor gets close. Very, very close. So close that Yeosang can feel hints of the other’s breath tickling his skin. He shudders.

 

Slowly, his jailor slides down his goggles, revealing dark brown, monolid eyes. His mouth drops open, and Yeo notices unusually large canines poking out from his top row of teeth.

 

“You are…”

 

Yeosang readies himself for some sort of threat.

 

“Stunning,” His captor finishes.

 

Yeo’s eyes widen. That’s not what he thought he’d hear. He suddenly wishes he had been threatened. Illness stirs in his stomach.

 

“How did you sleep, beautiful?” The man asks, smiling.

 

“My name is Yeosang,” Yeo answers gruffly.

 

“It sure is,” The other coos. A big, dumb grin crosses his lips, and he just  _ stares _ at Yeosang for a minute.

 

Yeo coughs loudly to pull the other out of his apparent daze.

 

“Hm- Oh. Right. You’re- you woke up- How’re you feeling, doll?”

 

“My name is Yeosang,” The cyborg insists again. “What- What’ve you done with my- my-?” He reigns back another fit of hysterics at the mere thought of his missing limbs.

 

“Wh- Oh, these things?” His jailor snaps, and suddenly a couple of hover panels float into view. One has his arm, laid out with a few little observation nodes stuck on it, the other his legs in a similar state. “Y’know, they wanted me to take you apart and sell you for scrap.”

  
“What?!” Yeosang’s eyes blow open wide.

 

“I know! Can you believe it?! With how pretty you are, you’d be worth  _ way _ more in one piece, I think. I mean- Shit this work is just-” The cable behind him lifts his body up a bit, and he turns around toward one of the panels behind. Yeosang lets out an unintentional gasp.

 

That’s not a cable. That’s a  _ tail _ .

 

A hybrid?

 

Effortlessly, the mysterious hybrid leaps toward a cable. He curls his tail over one of the metal beams and swings toward a cable. The ringed tail secures around another beam, and he gestures toward the panel with the cyborg’s legs.

 

“I mean, it’s beautiful, I just-” The hybrid kisses his fingers and clutches his heart, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen work so damn clean and flawless- obviously self made, too. Made from scrap, no?”

 

Yeosang would normally beam at the praise and recognition awarded to his work. However, given his current circumstances, he just feels sick. He gives no response but a wide-eyed stare.

 

The jailor, uncaring, shrugs,“I’m gonna take that as a yes-”

 

“A lemur,” Yeosang accidentally mutters out loud. He’d been searching his brain for where he’d seen a tail like that before. After scouring his mind, he managed to pull out a memory of a documentary about the species of old earth. Lemurs. Ring-tailed lemurs, they were called. Little, agile primates. Some say that a few planets still have the things, but Yeo’s sure as hell never seen one in person.

 

Until now? (Sort of.)

 

“That’s ring-tailed lemur, to you, sugar,” The captor lilts. Yeosang cringes. The hybrid ignores him, continuing, “So, anyways, I was like ‘you can’t scrap this guy, he’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen’ and the boss was like ‘well, we could use the money, we’re still reeling from that last bust’ but I was like-”

 

“Please-!” Yeosang cuts in. “Please give them back.” He figures it never hurts to ask first.

 

“Huh?”

 

“M-My legs and arm. Please.”

 

“What? Oh, no. I’m not done yet”

 

“Not done doing what?” Yeo asks through gritted teeth. His patience is starting to wear thin.

 

“I’m not done doing tests and analyzing them. Seriously this is brilliant stuff,” The hybrid picks up a leg, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it.

  
Yeosang expects to feel it, but he doesn’t. And, for once, he’s glad he can’t feel anything in his legs. The thought of the other running his little fingers up and down his legs irks him. 

 

“Like- They brought you over to me and I was just like-” He makes a little explosion noise, “-bam. I’m gonna marry this man.”

 

“What are you going to do to me when-  _ aaah _ !” Sharp, splintering pain rips through Yeosang’s thigh - where his leg would be. Tears pool up in his eyes, and he jerks against his binds. 

 

“Wh- Sorry,” The captor says sheepishly. “I was poking around and- and I guess you could say I…  _ Struck a nerve _ .”

 

Yeosang glowers at his captor.

 

“Y’know, get it because I-” He lightly pokes the leg’s junction point again, and Yeosang writhes at the sensation. “I- diddled the nerve-”

 

“ _ I get it _ ,” Yeosang huffs out.

 

“Pretty  _ and _ smart,” His captor swoons animatedly. He hugs Yeosang’s severed augment, pressing his cheek up against it happily, “We’re gonna have so much fun, husband.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Yeosang demands. He’s through with trying to play nice.

 

“Fine. Have it your way, bae.”

 

“Don’t call me that, either.”

 

“Sweetheart?”

 

“No.”

 

“Cutie?”

 

“No.”

 

“Cumpdumpster.”

 

“God-  _ No _ .”

 

“Oppa.”

 

“Hell no.”

 

“Boyfriend?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“How about I just call you…  _ Mine _ ?” The lemur posits with a happy sigh.

 

Yeosang suppresses his gag reflex, “How about you don’t.”

 

“Fine. What about…” The hybrid grins, “ _ Yeosangie _ ~” He lilts in a singsong voice. Hearing his name (or, well, an abstracted endearment made from his name) makes Yeosang crave death even more than he had before.

 

“No,” Yeo replies.

 

“Fine. Boyfriend it is!” His captor chirps with a sense of finality and a grin.

 

“Wh- But-”

 

“Unless you’d prefer…  _ Yeosangie _ ~” The other purposefully draws it out again.

 

Yeosang opens his mouth to argue but snaps it shut. He’s the disadvantaged one here. As much a he loathes the pet names, he realizes he’s gonna have to suck it up. It’s the smart thing to do for now.

 

“Fine,” The cyborg groans in defeat. He searches the other’s face for a moment, trying to get a feel for the guy to the best of his ability. Though he doesn’t have access to all the functions of his vision, his intuition is something he’ll never lose.

 

The kid is lithe, but not especially tall. He’s fidgety, restless. Something’s always twitching - the tip of his tail, his toes, his fingers. His eyes are busy, too, constantly swapping from the cyborg, to somewhere across the room, to something down below. The word that comes to mind is “hyperactivity”. 

 

But is he dangerous?

 

Everyone on that ship probably is, Yeosang reminds himself, but he doesn’t come across as particularly violent or aggressive. Of course, many unstable types turn that way when provoked. Yeo makes a mental note to be conscious of that.

 

“What’s your name?” Yeosang tries. Will the hybrid surrender the information willingly, or will he insist on withholding it?

 

“I’m Kevin,” The hybrid - Kevin, apparently - replies easily. “Kevin Moon- I do like my last name, but, like d’you think we’ll hyphenate? Moon-Kang? Or do you like Kang-Moon?”

 

Oh brother.

 

“I mean, I’d want to take your name, y’know,” The lemur prattles, stroking  Yeosang’s leg idly in thought. Is this guy for real?! “I want that sign of ownership- But then again Yeosang Moon… Hm… Yeosang Moon-Kang or Yeosang Kang-Moon… Kang-Moon Yeosang… Moon-Kang Yeosang…”

 

“P-please,” Yeosang tries wresting away’s the other’s attention. “What plans do you have for me? Wh-Where are my friends?”

 

Kevin completely ignores Yeosang, putting the leg down,“Moon-Kang, Kang-Moon… I’d definitely have Sangyeon walk me down the aisle…”

 

Apparently, Kevin is done with conversation. He prattles on about wedding plans and name changes, completely ignoring Yeosang’s cries and questions. The lemur swiftly disappears, lowering himself carefully down below to do god knows what.

 

Yeosang wracks his brain for an escape plan. Unfortunately, his usually sober thinking is tainted, steeped in anxiety. He prays that his fellow crew are faring better than he. That hope is what keeps him from completely succumbing to the panic trying to pull him into the trenches of dread.


	3. Chapter 3

The quiet is oppressive.

 

It makes even the dull hum of the lights drown out the sound of Hongjoong’s thinking. How long has it been?

 

Is this hour five?

 

Maybe hour six?

 

Is this a part of their strategy or an oversight? 

 

Hongjoong’s thoughts have been on a loop for the past hour. The loop proceeds as follows:

 

How are the others doing?

 

How is he going to get out to see the others?

 

How is he ever going to find the Treasure?

 

What is the Treasure, really?

 

What if the Treasure is nothing? Or if he’s destined to die on his journey to find it?

 

No - he’s got the most brilliant crew of people around him, nothing can happen. Nothing will happen.

 

How are the others doing?

 

It’s self-inflicted torture, grinding down at his wits and sanity with each iteration. He blames everyone. He blames himself. He blames the ship. He blames the gang and his life circumstances, but most of all: he blames the motherfucker hunched over not two meters away from him.

 

Hongjoong sniffles. He’s been doing that, too, blinking back tears stubbornly, hugging his knees close and fighting the sobs rattling his ribcage. 

 

The petty officer hasn’t said a word. Hell, he hasn’t even breathed loudly. They’re both content to stay in their corners, and that’s fine with Hongjoong. Really. Except, he  _ is _ tempted to hum a song or mumble to himself or  _ something _ . 

 

What are they doing?

  
Where are they going?

 

When do they plan on coming to get him?

 

It’s the uncertainty that kills him, really. If he knew they had scheduled a flogging or something, he’d at least have something to dread. Something to think about, to know about. Now, he feels so lost, floating in some enigmatic flux. The only thing he knows is what’s in his cell, and he doesn’t like it.

 

Desperate, with nerves completely wrecked, Hongjoong bursts up. He wrings a hand through his hair and starts pacing, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He can’t focus, but he needs to. Just sitting and doing nothing won’t get him anywhere. He just has to think.

 

The captain steps over to the door and inspects it. He feels silly when he realizes he hadn’t done that yet. Of course, why would he? It’s a fairly standard, secure cell door - not unlike the one on the lowest level of their ship. On the outside there’s a keypad to input the passcode. It slides. There’s not really any seams or bolts to work with. Just the equally as sturdy metal doorjamb. Then some bars.

 

Hongjoong experiments with giving a kick.

 

_ “Thud…!” _ The sound echoes loudly, making Joong’s cellmate jump.

 

Hongjoog inspects the door and repeats the motion again.

 

_ “Thud!” _ The noise echoes more loudly. He wonders…

 

If Jongho did it, why can’t he? What if Jongho’s strength lies in some peculiar ceaseless flow of adrenaline? Adrenaline enables humans to perform all kinds of feats. What are the odds that Hongjoong can tap into it?

 

_ “Thud!” _ Hongjoong tries the door again. He feels the reverberations through his boots. Unsurprisingly, the door doesn’t budge.

 

The captain tries again, this time harder. He winces.

 

Then he tries again.

 

_ “Thud!!” _

 

“What the hell are you doing?” The petty officer speaks for the first time in hours.

 

Hongjoong doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, he lifts his leg, grunting as he puts his back into it.

  
_ “Thud!!” _

 

“Are you  _ serious _ ?” The PO scoffs.

 

Hongjoong kicks the door again, and pain shoots from the bottom of his foot up to his ankle. He winces before trying again.

 

_ “Thud! Thud-!!” _

 

“Wh- What the hell are you doing?” Seonghwa asks.

 

Hongjoong grits his teeth through the pain, responding gruffly,“What does it-”  _ “Thud!” _ “-look like I’m doing?!”  _ “Thud!” _

 

“It looks like you’re trying to break your foot,” His platinumness sasses.

 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, “I’m-”  _ “Thud-!” _ “Trying to-”  _ “Thud!” _ “-get the hell out of here!”  _ “Thud!!” _

 

“Wh-” Seonghwa lets out a huffed snort. He laughs. The guy actually laughs, a low, tittering chuckle. The man seems to genuinely get off on watching other people struggle. Hongjoong concludes that the petty officer isn’t quite right in the head. How else could he find the struggles of someone desperately trying to save themselves amusing? He’s sick. 

 

“Wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Hongjoong grunts. He shakes his sore foot and changes his plan. He starts slamming his body into the thing, shoulder first.

 

“Thud!!”

 

“I can honestly say I do not understand,” The PO replies.

 

“How could you?”  _ “Thud!” _ Hongjoong winces. “You only understand orders-”  _ “Thud!” _ “-fed to you by pricks in pressed uniforms!”  _ “Thud!!” _ Hongjoong hisses - that one hurt.

 

“Okay, then, comic book hero, you have fun with that,” Seonghwa replies.

 

Hongjoong does it again. And again. And again. And  _ again _ .

 

“Fuck,” Joong mutters under his breath. With every impact the pain feels sharper and travels further across his shoulderblade.

 

_ “Thud!” “Thud!”  _

 

He tries switching shoulders. He swears he can feel the door shift in its holding. Is it working?

  
“Thud!” “Thud-!!” “THUD!!”

 

That’d been a bit much, but… He  _ has _ to keep going. His life depends on this, and, more importantly, his crew does, too. He has to find them. Period. Body be damned.

 

“Shit-” Hongjoong gasps. He clutches his shoulder, leaning heavily against the door for a few seconds break.

 

_ “Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud-!” _

 

“Will you stop that already?” Seonghwa groans.

 

Hongjoong ignores him.

 

_ “Thud-! Thud! Thud! Thud-” _

 

“Hey- Seriously, you’re going to hurt yourself at this rate.”

 

_ “Thud! Thud! Thud-!” _

 

“I don’t-”  _ “Thud.” _ “-care,” Hongjoong says.

 

“Huh- What? Why the hell-”

 

“I have to-”  _ “Thud!” _ “-find my crew-”  _ “Thud!” _ “-have to-”  _ “Thud!”  _ “-find the Treasure-!”  _ “Thud!!” _

 

“Okay, that’s enough, just- just calm down-”

 

_ “Thud!” _ “I will not calm down!”  _ “Thud!” _ “I have to- I have to-” Tears well up in Hongjoong’s eyes, and he doesn’t even give a shit anymore. He lets them fall as he throws himself against the door.  _ “Thud!!” _

 

“Fuck’s sake just- just stop-” Seonghwa protests. Why does it matter to him, anyways?

 

“I have to find-”  _ “Thud!” _ He seizes up as another bolt of pain strikes him from the shoulder. “-my family!” “Thud!”

 

“Stop- stop it-”

 

“You don’t-” “Thud!!” “-understand-” “Thud!”

 

“Kim- Fuck- Stop doing that!” Seonghwa’s voice starts raising.

 

_ “Thud!!” _ “-no!”

 

“Stop it-”

 

_ “Thud!” _ “Can’t-”  _ “Thud!!” _

 

“Kim- Hongjoong- Please-”

 

_ “Thud!” “Thud!!” “Thud!!” _

 

“Please- just-” 

 

_ “Thud!” “Thud!” “Thud!” _

 

“Hongjoong- Stop it- You’re- you’re hurting yourself-”

 

_ “Thud!” “Thud!” “Thud!!” “Thud!!” “Thud-” _

 

“Stop it-!” 

 

Suddenly, hands grab Hongjoong by the shoulders and wrench him away from the door. Hongjoong struggles frantically rattling off a littany of curses as he tries to hurl his body toward the door. Unfortunately, the petty officer is strong. He’s got an arm wrapped around the front of Hongjoong’s shoulders and one around his waist.

 

“Lemme go!” Hongjoong flails in the other’s grip. Just feeling the heat of the other’s body behind him sends what few nerves he has remaining teetering off the edge. “Lemme  _ go _ !”

 

“Calm down- Just- Just calm down-!”

  
“I am  _ not _ gonna calm down! Let me go-”

 

“Absolutely not!” The petty officer responds sternly.

 

“Just- Just let me go, I can’t-” Joong tries working on prying the other’s fingers off of him, but no luck. The fucker’s stronger than he looks, that’s for certain.

 

“You’re gonna pass out at this rate,” Seonghwa’s breath feels hot on the back of his neck. The sensation sends a shiver down Hongjoong’s spine. 

  
The captain stops.

 

He lets out a stunted breath. Then another. And another. After a few more, his breathing evens out into something somewhat normal. Exhaustion crashes over him, and he almost goes slack in the other’s arm, drug down in the wake of his fit.

 

“Let me go,” Hongjoong finally says, this time more calmly.

 

“Gladly,” Seonghwa replies, promptly releasing his hold on the other.

 

Joong stumbles without the support of arms around him, and he just barely manages to catch himself on the wall behind. He almost instinctively murmurs a “thank you”, but this is Petty Officer Prick he’s talking to. That guy doesn’t deserve a thank you. He deserves a kick in his too-tight pants.

 

“Christ,” Seonghwa lets out a long breath, wringing a hand through his hair. “The hell is wrong with you?”

 

Hongjoong doesn’t answer. He just wipes his sleeve across his face and fights to keep the tears at bay. Dull pain radiates from his shoulders down his body. What’s he supposed to say? How the hell can he explain his dreams to someone who thinks they’re a delusion? A joke?

 

More importantly: why does he give a fuck?

 

“Shit- Look at yourself,” Seonghwa mutters. 

 

Joong does it - for some reason. At first he doesn’t notice a thing, then he sees it. A flash of splotchy red pokes out from beneath the collar of his shirt. Bruising. Delicately, Hongjoong pulls the fabric aside. It’s already starting to look ugly, and even from the limited peek he gets, he sees shades of purple and maroon swathed across his shoulder.

 

“Seriously, what the hell were you thinking?” The PO asks callously.

 

“I was thinking about my family,” Hongjoong replies weakly. He doesn’t even know why he talks to the other. It’s useless. The most he gets out of any conversation with Seonghwa is a quick rush of petty satisfaction. Maybe the captain will get a rise out of him, but that’s about it. It certainly won’t do shit to help now.

 

Joong braces himself for some quip or condescending remark. What’s the prick gonna say? He wonders. He’ll probably make a dig about the dead parents or how ATEEZ isn’t real family. 

 

But…

 

No such words come. Nothing does, actually, which is weird for the petty officer. Surely he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to shove Hongjoong’s face further into the mud than it already is. 

  
Right?

 

“So, what, your plan was to just- just break out with the force of your tiny body?”

 

Hongjoong is at a loss. Usually, he’d tell the other to fuck off. To shut the hell up, shove some bleach up his ass so his rectum matches his head or something. But. He’s just so goddamn tired. He just gives the other a sideways glance that he prays looks pissed enough to deter the blond.

 

“What was your grand plan after that? Throw your broken body at every thug you come across and hope your  _ insane _ luck magically carries you to freedom?”

 

The captain clenches his fists in his lap, and his nostrils flare, “I liked it better when you weren’t talking.”

 

“Face it, we don’t stand a chance alone-”

 

“God-  _ What _ do you  _ want _ from me?!” Hongjoong’s ragged voice rings loudly in the metal chamber. He glares daggers at the PO. Maybe  _ just this once _ the man will humor him and shut the hell up.

 

Seonghwa takes a deep breath before answering, “I want the same thing you do at this moment in time. I want to get the hell out of here.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t see how bothering me is gonna get you that.”

 

“Talking won’t, but…” The blond hesitates, biting down on his lower lip nervously. His azure eyes skitter around - for what? It occurs to Hongjoong that he’d never seen the other like that. Is he having a stroke? Because there’s no fucking way that he is what he seems to be: nervous. That doesn’t fall into Petty Officer Park’s range of emotions. Hesitance falls nowhere between bitter and angry, nor does it fit under the umbrella of patronizing.

 

Taking a shaky breath, Seonghwa’s gaze returns to Hongjoong’s. Their eyes lock and earnestly, unwavering, he speaks.

 

“But working together might.”

 

“If I wanted a dagger to the back, I’d put it there myself,” Hongjoong snaps back.

 

The PO gasps, taken aback, “But-”

 

“You’re not funny.”

 

“I’m not joking,” He says.

 

“Yeah, sounds great. Why don’t we hold hands, too?” Hongjoong scoffs.

 

“Don’t be stupid, do you really think you could pull this off by yourself?”

  
“Oh, and  _ your _ help is what’s gonna get my crew to safety?” Joong actually laughs at that. It hurts, accentuating the soreness in his torso.

 

“You practically shattered your clavicle for them, but cooperating with me- that’s where you draw the line?”

 

“I know you  _ think _ I’m a moron, but I’m not.”

 

“Hm,” Seonghwa purses his lips and nods - like he’d just learned something. “Interesting.”

 

Hongjoong narrows his eyes, “Oh- what the fuck now?”

 

“Nothing, nothing at all…” Hwa presses his lips together and trails off.

 

“Okay, well, we both know you’re gonna tell me what you think regardless of whether it’s warranted, solicited- wanted at all, really,” Hongjoong bristles.

 

“No, no, it’s just- well-” Seonghwa shrugs and crosses his arms. Their gazes tangle again. Hongjoong has to concede, his eyes are arresting. Not in a good way. They’re so striking, it’s unsettling. One could get lost in those eyes just trying to figure out if they’re human or not.

  
“I thought you would do  _ anything _ for your crew,” The petty officer finishes.

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

It’s a play.

 

Hongjoong  _ knows _ it’s a play. It’s transparent, so thin that even in his mentally compromised state he sees it kilometers away. Yet he walks into it with open eyes regardless. The words creep into his mind, and he starts wondering: is he doing the most?

 

“I just- you were ready to break your body to get to them, but the prospect of cooperating with me is where you draw the line?”

 

“I don’t trust you,” The captain tells the other frankly.

 

“You only need to trust one thing: I want to get out of here as much as you do.”

 

The thing about Park Seonghwa is that he speaks sincerely. Occasionally, he employs sarcasm, but when he  _ means _ something, there’s no doubt about it. He delivers his statement with a severe sincerity Hongjoong knows to be genuine.

 

“So what? You’ll try and dispose of me the second I’m no longer useful.”

 

“Dispose of y- I’m outnumbered here!” Seonghwa’s bellow bounces down the hall. “Listen I-” He clenches and unclenches his hands, clearly struggling with something. “It- It wounds me to say this, but…”

 

His mouth moves, but Hongjoong can’t make out his words at first.

 

“Wh-What was that?”

 

“I…” Disgust squashes the PO’s face into a familiar expression. He bitterly mumbles, “I trust you more than I trust these people.”

 

“You what?” Hongjoong’s brows furrow with confusion.

 

“I- I want to make a deal. I…” Seonghwa groans, making it very clear how pained he is to make the admission. “I know you wouldn’t… Kill me. I can’t say I trust these gangsters to extend the same courtesy.”

 

Not killing a person is, apparently, courtesy now. That’s news to Hongjoong. He opts not to push the point. 

 

“I still don’t trust you.”

 

“Okay, fine. Pretend I kill you - then what happens? I take on a warship full of thugs myself?” He lets out a wry chuckle. “I’m flattered you think of me as so capable.”

 

“I think you’re  _ conniving _ ,” Hongjoong corrects him. “You really expect me to believe you wanna play nice?”

 

“God- Would you- would you stop trying to make this so  _ personal _ ? Or has your brain completely migrated to your chest?”

 

“I’m- Did you just imply that having a heart makes me stupid?”

 

“I’m not implying anything. I am  _ saying _ you’re too emotional and incapable of being objective.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you’re incapable of feeling emotions.”

 

“That reaction precisely illustrates my point.”

 

“Yeah. I’m not helping you get out. I’ll fucking rot before doing that.

 

“And what about the rest of your crew? Will they rot, too, because of your stubbornness?”

 

“Like you give a fuck.”

 

“I don’t- Well- I… I don’t,” Seonghwa seems to stumble over his words for some reason. “Don’t  _ you _ care? God- Fuck-!” Suddenly, the immaculate petty officer begins to fray. He seethes, running a hand so roughly through his hair that it actually  _ ruffles _ . “I just want to get out of here for  _ fuck’s sake _ ! I understand you’ve been in a cell for a few hours- Try a few days- a few weeks!” His eyes go wide, manic.

 

Hongjoong’s jaw falls open, and all the stress dissipates, replaced with utter shock. 

 

Is this it? Is the brittle reed about to snap? Joong actually considers the other’s words for a moment. Part of him feels like he shouldn’t. The PO is manipulative and methodical. He often speaks with the explicit intent of being as abominable as possible. But… This time, he sort of has a point.

 

Just a few hours in a cell has driven Hongjoong crazy. How would he cope with days? Weeks? Not knowing where he is or how his loved ones are doing? Hongjoong isn’t confident he’d be stable if put in the same situation. Hell, he’d sacrificed so much of his life to  _ avoid _ that exact situation. PO Park never seemed quite right in the first place, and hours of isolation has probably done  _ nothing _ to help him. 

 

Joong opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He can’t think of anything to say. In contrast: Prettyboy was, apparently, not finished, and has a lot more to say.

 

“God- You should be relieved I haven’t killed you in your sleep already- shitting christ. I am offering you a deal I- you- we don’t  _ have _ anyone else, this-” He gestures frenziedly between them, “-is all we have, and you’re turning down an offer of help because I h _ urt your feelings _ ?!”

 

Well, he hurt more than  _ that _ , Hongjoong thinks. He doesn’t say it, though. Seonghwa might  _ actually _ strangle him in his sleep if he raises much more of a fuss. He lets the other vent hoping that, maybe, that’s all the guy needs. Of course, it’s a bit of a pipedream. Hongjoong gets the sense that Seonghwa’s gonna have a thorn up his ass no matter how much he yells.

 

“Fuck- All I ask is that you dump me off on a planet with some Coalition presence. You think I  _ want _ to work with you!? Do you think I wanted to share a cell with you? Shit- Every time I look at you I- I-” He makes an abstract motion with his hands that Hongjoong can only interpret as  _ pain _ . The blond actually ruffles his hair - something that shocks Hongjoong so much he nearly forgets he’s in a holding cell on a gangster warship. The PO’s bangs actually fall onto his face. It’s  _ madness _ .

 

Hongjoong almosts asks if the other’s okay, but at this point he’s too afraid to speak.

 

Seonghwa takes a few deep, ragged breaths before continuing, only slightly calmer, “Grow the  _ fuck _ up. You have a choice right now: your pride or your crew. Your pick,  _ captain _ .” He spits out the last word, acrid.

 

“I don’t need you,” Hongjoong protests - unhinged Seonghwa be damned.

 

“No? Why don’t you give the door another try then- see how that goes?”

 

“I’ll think of something,” Hongjoong answers stubbornly.

 

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna- you won’t even consider it?”

 

“What part of ‘I don’t trust you’ do you not understand?” 

 

“The part where you put your personal reservations above the wellbeing of your crew.”

 

“I- I’m not-” 

 

God Seonghwa is so  _ infuriating _ . Hongjoong practically wants to try the door again. He briefly fantasizes about smashing his head against it. However, Seonghwa would probably enjoy that too much, and Joong really doesn’t feel like indulging the other on his hate fetish.

 

“Look- You can throw me back in the damn cell if you want just- just drop me off somewhere-”

 

“Wh- No-”

 

“You can leave me stranded-”

 

“This is not a negotiation.”

 

“-far from civilization, just-”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

“P-Please,” Seonghwa stutters out weakly.

 

“Wh…” Hongjoong’s tensity unravels from the utter surprise. “What did you just say?” He’d been avoiding looking directly into the other’s face but does so unintentionally.

 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa deliberately catches the captain’s gaze again. “Hongjoong-  _ please _ .”

 

Has he ever called Hongjoong by his name before?

 

“Did you just…?”

 

“Hongjoong, please,” Seonghwa repeats even more softly. He looks at the captain like the other’s got his delicate life held in his hands. Hongjoong tries to avoid the other’s scrutiny, but the feeling of those eyes on him is weighty. In spite of his better judgment he finds himself getting constantly snagged by the other’s pleading gaze.

 

“Wh- I don’t-”

 

“Please,” Seonghwa begs, and his face twitches, betraying the dilapidation of his composure. “Please- I- I understand your family is here and- and that’s- that’s terrifying, but- I- I don’t even know how mine is. I haven’t seen them in- in so long. Please. I am setting aside my pride, hell- my sanity, just for a  _ chance _ .”

 

“A- A chance at what?” Hongjoong protests shakily. “At getting killed by you sooner?” Seeing the other like this upsets him more than he’d like to admit. Joong supposes that it’s his baseline sympathetic streak that makes the sight so heartbreaking. It’s got nothing to do with seeing the inflexible, adamant PO reduced to tears.

 

“I- Of course. Why would you give a shit?” The platinum blond lets out a wry breath, “I regret asking.” He closes himself up, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his forehead on them. Hongjoong watches, waiting for… For something. Another outburst, perhaps - maybe a redaction or denial. 

  
However, minutes pass, and the other does nothing more than sniffle. It’s by far the most pathetic and small Hongjoong has ever seen the other look, and the sight isn’t nearly as satisfying as he thought it’d be. A profoundly ugly feeling knocks at his chest. Hongjoong tries to swallow it down, but as the resumed quiet stretches on, it becomes too whelming to ignore.

 

Guilt.

 

He feels fucking  _ guilt _ . It digs into his chest, ballooning until it practically chokes him.

 

Why does he feel guilty for rejecting the PO of all people?

 

Sure, he’s been reduced to a sniveling heap in the corner, but Hongjoong’s words  _ hardly _ compare to the things Seonghwa has said. 

 

Right?

 

Hongjoong didn’t want the other to get into his head, but it’s too late. He can’t stop staring at the other just sitting there - shuddering, folded into himself, and holding back sobs.

 

That can’t be real, right?

 

The petty officer never struck Joong as a crier. Hell, Hongjoong still isn’t positive the other is capable of feeling, really. The blackcoat is prideful, that’s for certain. He never seemed like the type to cry easily - or at all, really. Joong’s gut reaction is to read this as fakery, but would the PO’s pride allow him to even feign such vulnerability?

 

Hongjoong ponders.

 

Occasionally, the quiet gets pierced by a little sniff or trembling breath. Though his “no” had been firm before, it degenerates over time. The captain tries to reel in his wandering thoughts, but they float into his head of their own volition. Little questions bounce around, leading him astray, almost seducing him into lending the other generosity. Questions like:

 

Had he gone too far before? The talk about how his loved ones are better off?

 

Can the petty officer really be trusted?

 

What kind of threat will he pose in a one on one situation?

 

What is the worst that could happen?

 

What is the best?

 

Hongjoong goes down the line, laying out the pros and cons for himself. In his head, the worst that can happen is that - after somehow getting out - the guy snaps his neck without word or warning. Joong isn’t sure Seonghwa has the technique, and he’d definitely fight for his life, but the element of surprise is a hell of a thing. Just the thought of meeting such a swift, profane death makes him shudder. There’s also strangling, knocking him out with blunt force - there’s a wealth of ways to kill someone when they’ve got their back turned. Many of which don’t require any sort of weaponry.

 

Seonghwa’s rhetorical rings in Joong’s head: “Pretend I kill you - then what happens?”

 

That’s a good question. What would he do? Not like he can stroll up to the nearest computer and give his friends at the GC a call. Then again, Seonghwa might just keen at the satisfaction of the kill; the last word on the feud the two had started the second they first spoke.

 

PO Park is vindictive, yes, but is he bloodthirsty?

 

Hongjoong recalls all too well the image of the other brandishing a bonesaw at him. But then there’s also the crying, the vulnerability. Which one is real? The crazed, cold-blooded PO with killer intent, or the young man who’d gotten in over his head and put on a strong face for too long?

 

The captain nibbles on his lower lip as his thoughts take him down a winding path to god knows what conclusion. It dawns on him that, at some point, that path is going to have to fork.

 

Does he try to conspire with the other?

 

Or does he tell the guy to fuck off and continue stewing in uncertainty?

 

Hongjoong glances across the cell at the other again. He looks so damn dismal - a far departure from his haughty self. He must know that the ask had been a longshot. After all, if the roles were reversed, he’d have probably laughed in Hongjoong’s face. He did just about every other time he tried to make an emotional appeal. 

 

The captain freezes. He finds himself at the figurative fork of “yes” and “no”.

 

No doubt, Seonghwa would throw his head back in mirthful laughter. He would probably ridicule the captain calling him pathetic and desperate. If Seonghwa had even the slightest advantage in the situation, he’d lord it over the captain. He sure as hell wouldn’t be big enough to extend an olive branch - or even listen to Hongjoong for that matter.

 

And how is that different than what the captain is doing now? Disregarding the other, ignoring him?

 

There are few things that irk Hongjoong more than the thought of being like him. If only to be the bigger man, he treks down the riskier path.

 

“So, what were you thinking?” Hongjoong breaks the silence with a low grumble.

 

Everything stays quiet for a minute. He wonders if this is his grace period. Maybe he ought to turn back now, before it’s too late. The other’s doubt may be some sort of harrowing sign. He can still take it back, pretend he hadn’t spoken or that he’d thought aloud-

 

“Hm?” Seonghwa lifts his head with eyes wet and wide.

 

Or maybe it’s too late.

 

The captain stuffs down all the dread, distrust, and discomfort he feels from the other’s gaze and repeats himself, “I just- Um- What were you thinking?”

 

“A-About-”

 

“If you and I- We-” God, even just saying it out loud pains him. Joong winces as he finishes the thought. “If we worked together.”

 

Seonghwa blinks a few times, taken aback. He appears shocked that Hongjoong would actually consider it.

 

He stutters,“W-Wait, you-”

 

“Just. Humor me,” Hongjoong cuts the other off clippedly. “What would your plan be-  _ if _ I agreed to work with you?”

 

* * *

 

Jongho stirs dazedly. His head feels… Fuzzy. A faint acrid taste lingers on his tongue, making his face squash. Noises filter into his ears, along with shapes and muffled light. He jerks up, and soreness echoes throughout his entire body.

 

A groan squeezes out of his throat as awareness gradually returns to him. The light quickly becomes too bright while the sounds remain too diffused.

 

“Wh-” “Oh my god.” “Jongho?” “Jongho?!” “Are you up?” “You’re okay?” “Oh thank god-” “Is he alive?” “Wh- Of course he’s alive-”

 

Two forms close in on the youngest who’d been hunched in a corner. By reflex, he backs up from the strange intruders. However, when his recognition laggedly sparks, and he calms. It’s just Wooyoung and Yunho.

 

Wait.

 

Just Wooyoung and Yunho.

 

“Where’s the others at?” Jongho croaks. His throat feels scratchy for some reason. “What happened?”

 

Yunho gets to him first. The canis’s got an arm wrapped around him in no time, squeezing him tenderly.

 

“Y-you got knocked out, don’t you remember? They, um, they put something in you.”

 

“Hm?” Jongho retraces the events prior in his head. There was the ship getting sucked in, them getting hauled off and lined up. His bounty is… high. They got sacked - he struggled when they’d broken off a bit. It caused a huge fuss, and he blacked out.

 

“Hey,” Wooyoung says softly, “Hey, you okay?”

 

“Mn… I think so? Sore. Where’s the others?”

 

“I… We don’t know, exactly,” Yunho responds.

 

“Oh. What… What about us?”

 

“We… Don’t know,” Wooyoung presses his lips together.

 

“Mmn- Mmkay, lemme just-” Jongho moves to stand up, but the two older ones rush to his side.

 

“Whoa- whoa- whoa-” “Steady.” “What’re you doing?” “Take it easy.”

 

“But- I’m- I’m gonna break us out-”

 

“Like hell you are,” Yunho pushes Jongho’s shoulders down until his ass hits the ground.

 

“I- Bu-”

 

“C’mon,” Wooyoung says, “You need to rest. We-” He gestures between Yunho and himself, “-are gonna try to, uh, reason with them.”

 

Yunho nods emphatically, “With our charms.”

 

“Big charms.”

 

“Great charms,” The canis points to his wagging tail.

 

“Sexy charms,” Wooyoung waggles his eyebrows.

 

“Oh  _ my _ ,” Jongho mutters.

 

“Wait- But- Can you, like, pretend to be asleep?” Woo asks.

 

“Wh- Me? Bu- But why?”

 

“Like- When they come,” Wooyoung clarifies. “If they know you’re awake, they might knock you out with that stuff again.” He frowns.

 

“Uh… Okay,” Perhaps in a more lucid state, Jongho would protest. However, he’s not too keen on arguing about anything at the moment. Pain knocks at his temples and scratches down his throat, and though he’s awake his mind feels bogged down, slow. “Well… When’ll they be here?”

 

“Uh.” “Well…” “I-” “We don’t know.” The two deliver the answer anxiously.

 

“Oh. Okay,” Jongho answers weakly. “So you don’t know when you’ll… With your ‘charms’.”

 

“Right.” “Yeah.” “No.” “I mean- No, we don’t- we don’t know when-” “They’ll come eventually. Probably.”

 

Jongho looks between the two of them, completely baffled. He has so many questions yet severely lacks the mental presence to posit them. He trusts them, he does. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Yunho and Wooyoung. They’re both very skilled and formidable in their own rites. It’s just that their manner does nothing to reassure his hazy mind. There’s not exactly a wealth of options, though, so Jongho goes along with it.

 

The other two dote over him for a few minutes. They insistently ask if he’s okay, if he’s in pain, and if he’s scared. The way the two clamor make Jongho suspect that it is in fact them who are in pain, scared, and generally not okay. But he doesn’t say anything. If throwing their arms around him makes them feel better, he’s fine with it. Though he’d never admit it, it’s sort of nice. Usually he’s the one protecting and defending. (Well, more accurately: punching. He punches things a lot.)

 

“Thunk… thunk… thunk…” A soft noise echoes down the hallway, and the older two of the trio freeze.

 

“What’s- what’s going on?” Jongho asks confusedly.

 

Yunho holds a finger up, urging silence from the other two. 

 

“Thunk… thunk…” The sound comes again. It sounds vaguely metallic, solid. The impact of something on a hard surface, a steady rhythm.

 

“They’re coming,” The canis whispers. He nods to himself, digesting the information momentarily before gasping. “Fuck- They’re- they’re coming-! I mean-” He whispers, “They’re-”

 

“We get it,” Jongho sighs. “Wait- so- do I-”

 

Wooyoung bites his lip nervously,“Just- Just look… Drunk.”

 

“Drunk?” Jongho’s face scrunches with puzzlement.

 

“Y’know all- knocked out!”

 

“Right, right, uh- drunk,” Jongho obliges, leaning back again and letting his head loll to the side. He tilts his head back so he can keep his eyes open with the illusion of being closed. Hopefully, it’ll work. He barely remembers being stuck with a giant needle, but he sure as hell doesn’t want a reminder of the experience.

 

Yunho and Wooyoung whisper fervently to one another. It seems like they’d planned something out. Either that or they’re planning something out now. Jongho hopes they’re not just throwing something together now. In all honesty, the entire concept of charming their way out seems paper thin at best, but he can’t exactly complain. He wasn’t conscious for the planning process, after all. Who knows, perhaps the two of them came up with a brilliant approach.

 

_ “Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk…”  _ The sound - footsteps on the metal floor, it turns out - gets closer. Yunho and Wooyoung tense for a second before skittering off to their respective spots. Jongho swears he almost hears a theater director yelling: “Places, everyone!”

 

_ “Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.” _

 

Jongho tries to look as asleep as possible when three hazy silhouettes step in front of the cell. Yunho and Wooyoung tense yet again, but neither move. Jongho quietly observes. The canis sits cross-legged, fiddling with his hands in his lap while Wooyoung boldly leans against the bars. 

 

The trio of gangsters certainly make for a colorful bunch. There’s a clear alpha of the bunch. Jongho can’t place it, but there’s a quality about the shortest of them. He’s got dark hair, big ears, and a stern posture. Next to him is another with dark hair and a mouth Jongho can only register as pouty. He tosses a ball idly in one hand. Perhaps if Jongho didn’t have to play dead, he’d be able to make a more astute observation. He can tell them apart, at least. The two with dark hair match in a way. There’s a sameness about them - the way they stand, the dark, deep colors of their dress. Then, off to the side, there’s the bizarre, smiley outlier with blazing auburn hair. Instead of black and black, he’s wearing a bright shirt with some sort of cartoon character on it. Interesting. Jongho almost opens his eyes, but hearing one of the jailors speak jolts him back into his role as the unconscious body.

 

“Hi,” Wooyoung takes the initiative to greet the jailors. His tone is soft - maybe to disarm them. He leans back languorously against the bars (which can’t be comfortable) and gazes at them from over his shoulder.

 

The short alpha grunts in response. Jongho can feel his discernment heavily. He’s watching them.

 

Finally, the alpha speaks, “Wooyoung.” He says firmly.

 

At first, Wooyoung seems a bit taken aback, but he collects his visage of calm quickly.

 

“Yeah?” Woo answers. “And what’s your name? Seems unfair you all know mine but I don’t know yours.” His tone sounds like an attempt at coyness. Jongho would likely mistake it for coyness if he didn’t actually know Wooyoung, but he does. This is entirely different from his sheepish brand of shyness.

 

Oh god, Jongho dies internally. These are the charms, aren’t they? The charms that he and Yunho wish to employ. Jongho prays to whatever kind deities may be looking down upon them. He begs that they have mercy on the souls of ATEEZ, for they know not what forces they trifle with. While the youngest genuinely appreciates the effort of the plot, he still knows so little about who they’re dealing with. What if they’re easily provoked?

 

Would they kill if slighted?

 

Before his thoughts can get too grim, Jongho reigns them in. In truth, he thinks of himself as a rock for the crew, perhaps even a pillar. It is not to downplay the importance of others, but that’s the role he sees himself in. He’s not used to completely relying on those around him, typically it’s the other way around. Naturally, surrendering control gives him a smidgen of anxiety. He reminds himself that he ought to trust his crew. Just because he cannot directly have hand in something himself doesn’t mean it is destined to go badly. He repeats the thought over and over again.

 

“You did work for us few times, didn’t you?” The alpha says more than asks in a clipped tone.

 

Wooyoung nods, “I did.”

 

The short alpha squats down so he’s eye level with the sitting Wooyoung. Jongho notices the auburn-haired one waving out of the corner of his eye. He realizes that auburn hair isn’t waving at Wooyoung - he’s waving at Yunho. The redhead beams with a smile like sunshine. For what? Jongho has no idea. He’s just glad at least  _ someone’s _ charms are working. Something about the way their leader glares at Woo gives Jongho a bad feeling.

 

The pregnant silence that ensues makes it even worse. Slowly, Jongho gets the inkling that something is very, very wrong. Wooyoung squirms, too. His charade of cool serenity glitches a bit. He fidgets slightly and worries at his lip.

 

“You don’t remember me, do you?” The alpha asks, standing up and crossing his arms. The crony that looks more like him leers at Wooyoung while the other still seems to be lost in Yunholand.

 

“Were you one of my contacts?” Wooyoung asks cooly. Through the veneer, Jongho can see the other’s nerves. Shit, he’s nervous, too, and all he’s doing is pretending to be asleep.

 

The alpha lets out a wheeze,“Was I- Were we- You- you really don’t remember, do you?”

 

Wooyoung narrows his eyes and shakes his head.

 

“I- You don’t-” The alpha lets out a humorless laugh, making Jongho’s heart sink. 

 

(In the meanwhile redhead off to the side emphatically mouths excitedly to Yunho, “I love dogs!”)

 

“Changbin?” The alpha points to himself and raises his eyebrows. 

 

It’s obvious to Jongho that the name doesn’t ring a bell. Hell, it’s not even on the right doorstep. Even through his mask of seductive coolness, Woo has an air of utter loss.

 

“We- Earth BH1039. The job.”

 

Oh god.

 

Jongho sees the full picture all too clearly. Realization doesn’t wash over him like a gentle wave. It hits him like a freight ship, square on. It’s a horrific realization, and even moreso considering the fact that it may be a contributing cause to his hastened death. 

 

They’re all gonna die.

 

“You really don’t remember?”

 

Because Wooyoung had a one night stand and forgot about the guy.

 

At this point, both broody underling and sunshine auburn (these are the tentative names Jongho’s given the other two) are preoccupied with Yunho. The canis’s eyes dart between the two ogling him and Wooyoung. In spite of the rather dire situation on Woo’s part, Yunho wags his tail obligingly. At this point it’s probably a deliberate distraction tactic. The less people privy to Wooyoung’s exploits, the better.

 

Wooyoung responds coolly,“I know I’ve done a few little things, but you seem like kind of a big guy-” Jongho suppresses a snort at that. “-probably never had to deal with little helpers like me. You sure you got the right guy?”

 

Without warning, Changbin lunges for Wooyoung, grabbing his collar through the bars. Yunho gasps, and Jongho flinches. His reflex is to help, but he can’t. Not if he’s “unconscious”. Changbin drags Wooyoung onto his feet, pulling him flush to the bars. Jongho can’t see super well, but Changbin seems really close to Wooyoung - at least from his angle. He imagines Wooyoung can almost feel the other’s breath on his face.

 

Changbin lowers his voice into a growl,“You’ve got some fucking nerve, driving me crazy like that then just disappearing.”

 

It’s a very private conversation echoing very loudly in a very public situation. Sunshine auburn still appears blissfully unaware. Or uncaring. At this point Jongho just isn’t sure. The other underling has gone back to glaring at Wooyoung. 

 

“Our line of work is dangerous,” Wooyoung replies, swallowing nervously. “Can’t stay in one place too long.”

 

“So you leave without a trace?”

 

“You remind me of my dog,” The broody underling says to Yunho.

 

Jongho strains his hearing as two entirely separate conversations unfold.

 

“Oh- Uh- You have a dog?” “I- I had to.” “Yeah. He’s dead now.” “O-Oh.” “Hi, puppy!” “I’m not actually a dog, you know.” “Wooyoung, I thought we were friends. Well- A little  _ more _ than that-” “Y’know, I have a friend who’s a hybrid.” “Oh- You’re not talking about that freak with the ringtail, are you?” “I- I’m sorry? Let me make it up to you now.” “You think I’m just gonna drop trou now? Just cause you managed to somehow slink back into my life?” “Don’t talk about Kevin like that.” “Don’t worry, dude, you are nothing like Kevin.” “Who- Who is Kevin?” “Changbin, please, I can- I can make it up to you. Just think about it. Think about that night-” “Do you think I’m a fucking joke?!” “Kevin likes jokes. I’m hungry.” “Fucking hell- are all you Boyz airheads?” “Don’t- Don’t tell me to think about it. Like it didn’t drive me insane for weeks.” 

 

Jongho’s head is spinning at this point. Through his half-squinted eyes, he can barely follow the conversations going on. He’s not sure he’d make much more sense of them even if he could watch. All he knows is that little progress seems to be getting made. Jongho’s doesn’t even know why the hell the trio came by in the first place. Did Changbin seriously come to Wooyoung’s cell just to agonize over a booty call? What the hell went down between them to warrant such a dire tone? Jongho quickly decides he doesn’t want to know. Unfortunately, the nonsense rambles on.

 

“I’m sorry, I was scared.” “One time, I took Kevin’s chicken kabob as a joke-” “Who is Kevin?” “He’s kinda like you- got a tail and stuff.” “You saying I scared you away?” “-and he made me test the acidity of his homebrew battery suspension. It tasted awful-” “Wait- you ate battery acid?!” “Wh- A-Are you okay?” “It was one night…” “You- You said we’d-” “I found the suspension rather tart.” “How the  _ fuck _ are you guys considered the ‘smart’ gang?” “Uh, so, um, are you allowed to tell us about the others?”

 

The youngest suppresses the intense urge to roll his eyes and groan. What the fuck is going on? He genuinely appreciates the effort on the part of his seniors, but they probably should’ve strategized better. Of course, I’m sure neither anticipated running into a former flame of Wooyoung’s. No doubt that put a wrench in the works. Now the two are just scrambling to salvage it. 

 

Jongho wishes he could just knock them out and swipe the codes to the cell or something.

  
Wait.

 

Why  _ can’t _ he do that?

 

Oh, yeah, he should be “resting”. Jongho assesses the situation. It seems to be going nowhere. It’s not that he wants to undermine his seniors, it’s just that - bless they’re souls - they need help. Changbin still has Wooyoung by the collar to the bars and continues to ream him for forgetting about their “magical night”. The other three prattle on nonsensically. 

 

The youngest blinks his eyes open and sits up more properly - just to see if anyone notices.

 

Nobody does. 

 

Jongho watches with a quirked eyebrow and very, very slowly creeps closer to the bars.

 

Still nothing.

 

His first target is Changbin. He knows at some point he’ll get caught. His goal is to be close enough to the alpha before that happens. Odds are, they’re all packing heat, but with the element of surprise, Jongho’s confident he can take at least one out before guns are drawn. From there… He doesn’t have much of a plan. He hopes the others don’t take offense in his intervention.

 

Jongho inches himself toward Wooyoung little by little, eyes darting madly between everyone else. For a second, he notices the broody underling’s eyes go toward him. The youngest freezes, letting his body go limp and shutting his eyes. Then, he waits.

 

When a minute goes by without any remarks, Jongho ventures to open an eye. Once again, he scooches toward the bars. It  _ has _ to be noticeable, right? Jongho’s heart beats faster as he sluggishly slides across the ground.

 

“Wh- Is he moving?” The broody underling asks, furrowing his brows. Jongho plays dead, the hairs on his neck standing on end.

 

“Wh-” “Huh?” “J-Jongho?” 

 

“N-No. He’s not,” Wooyoung says insistently. Jongho can feel the other giving him a look, but the sound of his body hitting the bars again seems to redirect his attention.

 

“Don’t change the fucking subject,” Changbin seethes before turning back to Woo. “Wooyoung, I’m not asking for fucking happily ever after, but shit- friends with some nice ass benefits.  _ Literally- _ ”

 

“Okay,” Jongho huffs. “I’ve heard enough.”

 

The cell block falls silent, and everyone gapes. Before the Lost People or whatever the hell they are collect their jaws off the floor, Jongho opts to act. He pushes off the ground beneath him and tears Wooyoung out of the alpha’s grip. Wooyoung falls onto his ass, and Jongho swears he’ll apologize for that later. Right now, he’s got one primary focus: Changbin.

 

The guy’s already reaching behind himself. The youngest has  _ negative _ interest in seeing what the other’s got holstered between his ass cheeks. So, he politely delivers a swift punch to the other’s head through the bars. The angle’s not perfect - ideally he’d go for the temples. That’s the easiest way to knock someone out. Luckily, the shot sends the guy reeling regardless. Sunshine auburn gasps, and broody underling scuttles over to his superior’s side worriedly.

 

“Jongho- What the hell?” Wooyoung scolds. 

  
Jongho ignores him, going for underling. He lunges toward the bars, reaching for the underling’s collar and yanking him close. 

 

“Listen kid, you’ve got two options,” Jongho snarls, trying to sound as threatening as possible. Judging by the terrified expression on the kid’s face, it’s working. “You can end up like him, or you can open up this damn cell.”

 

“You- You can’t be serious!” The underling exclaims. There’s a clear attempt at being threatening, but his bark severely lacks any fervor.

 

“I- You know what? I don’t have time for this,” Jongho swiftly relinquishes his grip to slam the heel of his hand against the other’s forehead. Once again, it’s far from ideal, but it’s super effective. The underling flips backward almost comically, limbs flailing until his body falls limp with a final thump. 

 

Now for sunshine auburn.

 

The redhead throws his hands up immediately, “Please don’t hurt me- I’m a baker!”

 

Jongho’s brows knit in bafflement, “You- You’re a what?”

 

“The hell kind of gang has a baker?” Yunho asks confusedly.

 

“It’s a very efficient delivery method for a vast assortment of products,” Sunshine auburn remarks matter-of-factly. 

 

Oh. It makes sense now, Jongho thinks.

 

Still, he doesn’t trust this guy, and he reaches through the bars before sunshine has the good sense to move away. Grasping the other’s collar with one hand, he uses his free hand to roughly grope the other for weapons. Sunshine gasps but doesn’t protest. He doesn’t seem like much of a fighter, to be honest, but looks can be deceiving.

 

“U-Uh, what’re you?” 

 

“Checking for weapons,” Jongho replies. His angle is far from ideal, but he doesn’t feel anything weapon-like. After his slapdash examination, he tells the other, “Codes?”

 

Redhead smiles sheepishly,“U-Uh, I’d have to, um-”

 

“Just tell us!” Jongho demands. He glances out through the bars. Given the proper angle, one of them could probably reach around and punch it in.

 

“O-Oh- Okay- It’s, um, three… Six… One… One, three, one- Did you get that?”

 

“...Three, one…” Jongho  mutters to himself. He glances at Wooyoung, “You got that? Can you reach?”

 

“O-Oh, uh, I don’t think-”

 

“Just try,” Jongho says through gritted teeth. Every second that passes is a second someone else can walk by. Wooyoung obliges with a nod. He sticks an arm out between the bars and angles himself awkwardly as he reaches out. 

 

“I- I can’t-” Wooyoung grits his teeth as he struggles. “It’s like- the pad is on the other side, away from the bars…”

 

Jongho leers at sunshine, “You do it.” He demands. He isn’t sure what kind of threat he really poses. After all, what’ll stop this guy from just running off and alerting the authorities? Jongho tosses ideas around his head. He wonders if there’s anything aside from his own fists he could use as a weapon. His gaze falls on the two bodies slumped over one another in front of the cells.

 

“Wooyoung,” Jongho says, “Grab their weapons,” He nods to the two snoozing on the ground. Wooyoung raises his brows in surprise as if to say “Oh- good idea.” As he should. It  _ is _ a good idea. The older obliges, and Yunho recruits himself to help. After some awkward bending and grabbing, the two manage to toss over the Lost Boys (or whoever the fuck) and procure a couple of weapons. 

 

Wooyoung handles his hefty handgun confidently, turning it over in his hands and inspecting the model. It’s heavy and black. The thing looks like it could double as a bludgeoning weapon it’s so bulky. Unsurprisingly, he’d swiped it off of the alpha. In contrast, Yunho holds the little silver pistol he’d grabbed like it’s liable to bite his hand any second. He eyes the thing warily, holding it as far away from his body as possible. After inspecting his arm, Woo aims it at sunshine. He quirks an eyebrow as if daring the redhead to act out. Good, Jongho thinks, at least one of them is with the program.

 

“O-Okay. Alright,” Sunshine nods, pressing his lips together. Even with palpable stress surrounding him, he grins and forces out a laugh. “Right, yeah, I’ll, um-”

_   
_ _ “Cli-clock,” _ Wooyoung pulls back the slide of his handgun threateningly. The sound even unnerves Jongho, and he shoots the older a dirty look. They need to give the  _ impression _ of threat, not actually be threatening. Wooyoung just shrugs at him, all the while Yunho stares him down, petrified with fear.

 

The gun stays trained on sunshine as he crosses over to the pad and punches in the code.

 

_ “Beep-beep!” _ The cell door chirps and slides open. 

 

Sunshine swallows nervously,“Wait- You’re, uh, you’re not gonna hurt me are y-” Jongho crosses over, seizing sunshine quickly and throwing him into the cell.

  
“In,” He grunts.

 

“Oh- Okay, um- Right, oh-” Sunshine turns to Yunho as he rushes out of the cell. “Oh- That’s a cute tail, can I touch it?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Yunho imparts sternly before stepping out.

 

“Oh- Okay, no, that’s- that’s fine,” The redhead mumbles. In the meanwhile, the canis and youngest hume drag in the unconscious bodies of the other two. 

 

A huge sense of relief comes over Jongho when he’s finally on the other side of the bars. 

 

“Thunk.” The door shuts, leaving the redhead with his two snoozing cohorts.

 

“Thanks for your cooperation, sunshine,” Jongho bids the other farewell.

 

“It’s, uh, Haknyeon actually.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Oh- Right on, right on,” The sunny redhead - Haknyeon, apparently - nods. He waves, ceaselessly smiling, “Bye Yunho! It was nice to meet you!”

 

“Uh- Bye?” Yunho returns the wave obligingly. Jongho rolls his eyes and drags the canis down the corridor. 

 

The trio can’t be out of the thug’s view fast enough for his liking. The corridor is long, and everything looks identical. Cell after cell after cell lay empty across the seemingly endless hall. At the end, it turns a corner. Just seeing the turn makes nerves creep under Jongho’s skin. What lies beyond that corner? He urges the others to slow down with a gesture.

 

“I think that went well,” Yunho mutters, glancing over his shoulder. “They seem nice.”

 

“Yeah,  _ real _ nice,” Jongho deadpans. “Right Wooyoung?”

 

“Wh- Come on, man! How was I supposed to know, I- I didn’t even remember him. Well- Not at first.”

  
“Not at first?” Jongho’s nose scrunches.

 

“Trust me, you don’t forget a man like that.”

 

“Do I wanna know?” Yunho asks.

 

Wooyoung lets out a puff of air, “Don’t let his bubbly personality fool you. That guy’s into dark stuff. Like,  _ dark _ dark-”

 

“What the fuck?” The canis blurts out.

 

“ _ Major _ sadist. Like he just  _ breaks _ people. Think that’s why he was so hung up on me. I didn’t let him get me to that point.”

 

“What do you mean… Breaks?”

 

“Well, he really likes chains-”

 

“Alright, sharing time is over!” Jongho punctuates the statement with a little clap. “We should focus on making a plan. And fucking pray we don’t run into another old associate of Wooyoung’s.”

 

“What?” Wooyoung throws his hands up. “What is  _ so _ wrong about consenting people of age enjoying one another’s company?”

 

“Well, there’s the fact that you got damn near  _ killed _ because you didn’t call a guy after fucking him. ‘Enjoying company’ my ass.”

 

“How the fuck was I supposed to know I’d see him again?!” 

 

“He seemed pretty misled- like, did you say something to him?” Yunho adds (though the nugget is hardly productive).

 

“Oh- I see how it is,” Wooyoung pouts. “Gang up on Wooyoung because he gets laid. Why is my sex life so upsetting to you people?!”

 

“Wha- Nobody said anything about your sex life. We’re definitely not upset,” Yunho chuckles. “I just- I think maybe you could be more… Considerate?”

 

“Really? Because it sounds like you’re all upset. What right do you have to shame me?”

 

Jongho raises his hand, adding dryly, “Actually, I’m the first to admit that I am both upset  _ and _ shaming you. Keep it in your pants.”

 

“Thank you, Jongho,” Wooyoung answers sarcastically. “At least I can trust someone here to be honest with me.” He narrows his eyes at Yunho dramatically.

 

“Wh-?!” Yunho rolls his eyes, but the tips of his lips upturn. Teasing Wooyoung is a nice way to lift the spirits, after all. “What do you want me to say?”

 

“Well, I dunno,” Wooyoung shrugs, “Maybe you could compliment me on my people skills and networking abilities instead of shaming me.”

 

“People skills? Is that what you call it?”

 

“I do display skills with people.”

 

“ _ On _ people?” Jongho snickers.

 

“You know- You guys haven’t even known me that long. Suddenly, you find out I slept with three Stray Kids and I’ve got a scarlet letter. Hardly seems fair.”

 

“What?!” “Whoa- Three?!” “Did you just say three?” Jongho and Yunho gasp way louder than they ought to in the echoey cell block.

 

Wooyoung’s ears flush red as he presses his lips tightly shut. It’s too late, though. The damage is done, and Jongho’s already thinking of more meaningful ways to make fun of the other.

 

“Maybe so,” Wooyoung owns up to it, knowing damn well he can’t lie to the canny youngest and clever canis.

 

“Like… At once?” Yunho asks. He sounds awed - but not necessarily in a good way.

 

“I- Well-”

 

“Oh my god,” Jongho pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s not that he thinks it’s inherently wrong, really. However, he just can’t fathom that someone he actually knows as a human is so shamelessly debaucherous. This is Wooyoung of all people. Sure, Jongho respects he’s got a sexy side, but the majority that he sees is just a massive goofball. Jongho considers maybe he’s the weird one, maybe it’s him who’s not seeing something that everyone else does. 

 

“Okay, I’m sorry I’m not the virginal bastion of purity you thought me to be-” (Jongho actually squeaks from trying to suppress his laugh.) “-but I- I have been safe-”

 

“I dunno if you can say that considering the trouble it’s just gotten you in,” The humecanis interjects.

 

“Okay- My point is that-”

 

“Wooyoung, volume” Jongho chides as they near the corner.

 

“What? There’s nobody here,” Wooyoung throws his hands up.

 

“Yeah, but the echoes-” Jongho points just around the corner.”

 

“My point is that, I like to fuck! And sometimes, to relish in the comfort and warmth-”

 

“Wooyoung.”

 

“-of a fellow human being-”

 

“-Wooyoung stop,” Jongho tells the other firmly. Shadows just barely stretch beyond the turn of the hallway.

 

“-you have to say shit. You may or may not mean that shit, but that’s not what it’s about. Because it doesn’t really matter-”

 

“Wooyoung,” Jongho seethes through gritted teeth as the reach the bend and he sees two figures just meters away. 

 

“You know it doesn’t matter, they know it doesn’t matter. Sometimes you just need cathartic release and- and maybe someone to hold you-”

 

“Wooyoung!” Jongho suppresses the urge to lunge at the other and choke him - it’s for his own good, really.

 

“-And sometimes in order to have some consensual, adult fun, you just have to talk out of your ass and do what they want, so you can both get what you want- oof.” 

 

Wooyoung abruptly stops, cut off as he bumps into someone roughly. 

 

Jongho’s heart drops on Woo’s behalf. He knows they were bantering, just having some boy talk, but fuck. Talk about bad timing. It’s like a train wreck, and all the youngest can do is watch as Woo slowly turns around.

 

The older hume freezes and swallows hard. His mouth flaps open and closed a few times. Of course, nothing manages to make its way out. All present feel the same thing: secondhand devastation. There is no helping Jung Wooyoung now, god rest his soul.

 

“S-San?” Wooyoung squeaks out. “Y-You’re- I-”

 

Jongho genuinely wishes he could look away, but he can’t. Nobody can. Mingi and Yunho are similarly transfixed by the natural disaster unfolding before them. It’s so arresting that the two actually put off acknowledging one another. It’s  _ that _ bad. 

 

San shoves past Wooyoung callously, crossing over to Jongho. Jongho - while he adores the siren - honestly wishes he hadn’t. His face is completely calm and neutral which does absolutely nothing to soothe Jongho’s worries. What puts him off the most is the aura surrounding the siren. It’s acrid and angry, scorching to the point that Jongho fears it’ll set him alight should he get too close.

 

Voice straight and eerily placid, San speaks, “Jongho, Yunho, I’m so glad you guys are okay. How- How did you get out?”

 

No mention Wooyoung. Ouch. Jongho catches Mingi grimacing out of the corner of his eye. The secondhand pain is excruciating enough, no doubt Wooyoung feels it tenfold. 

 

“We, um, managed to trick the guards,” Yunho grumbles. His pupils keep skittering over to Wooyoung, a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue. “Your- Um, your clothes look… Different.”

 

Mingi steps forward, speaking more to Yunho than to anyone else, “Yeah, we, um, we tried to blend in.” The hoodie he wears rides up high on his arms, a testament to their improvisation. 

 

“W-Well, what do we do now?” Jongho asks. He, too, finds his attention gravitating toward Wooyoung.

 

His body’s locked up tight - arms crossed and eyes fixed on the floor. He fucked up and he knows it. Jongho wants to say something. Not necessarily get in the middle of things, but to fix things. Even if only in the interim. ATEEZ is in shambles as it is. Some ill-timed ranting about sex seems like a  _ really _ stupid reason to jeopardize their possible escape. He’s not sure if he can deal with San’s passive aggressive remarks every five minutes.

 

“We need to find the others,” Yunho says. 

 

“Yeah, but this place is huge,” Mingi remarks. “I mean- Is there a way we can narrow it down, at least? Where they are?”

 

“There’s gotta be a- a map schematic or something on this ship- right?” Jongho asks. He nods to Wooyoung, “You were a trainee for the GC once upon a time, right?”

 

“Hm?” Wooyoung wakes up from his daze. His pupils shift nervously between the youngest and the siren just in front of him. “Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, this, um, I think this is a Coalition build, actually. Um, older. Probably stolen. They probably changed all the keycodes and ciphers, but I might be able to get something useful off a PC. If I can get a crack at one...” His voice trails off into a low hum, like he’s afraid of speaking.

 

Yunho responds, “Let’s get to the nearest PC and see what we can find. They’re gonna notice that we’re missing sooner or later.”

 

The crew exchanges a few affirmative nods. They cling to the wall, sneaking onward from where Mingi and San came. Jongho watches his older crewmates step carefully in front of him. The brief joy of banter dissipates, quickly replaced by apprehension. His thoughts drift to the captain and Yeosang, but they never completely stray from the hume and the siren.

 

* * *

 

“Boyfriend?”

 

Yeosang scowls. He knows the man below can’t see it, but he hopes that, somehow, he can feel it. It’d been two hours (give or take) since the entrance of his extra-special, personal jailor, Kevin. After the initial shock of losing his limbs, Yeosang had experienced the stages of grief from top to bottom, then bottom to top. He’d gone through each step in and out of order. The denial, disbelief, the rage, the bargaining, the numb, soul-sucking depression, and the weak attempt at acceptance. He hopped from one to another, practically reeling from whiplash at the rate with which his moods swung.

 

Tears had long dried on his face, and his meager energy stores depleted rapidly. He’d tried thrashing about, cursing, threatening, and wiggling his way out of his binds. Yeosang can’t remember the last time that raw emotion has ripped through him so fiercely. The sweltering dread raked its claws down its chest, drawing out every ugly, pathetic little doubt that had been bottled up in his chest.

 

All the while, Kevin had been profoundly uncaring. He spoke utter nonsense, alternating between asking in-depth, technical questions about the augment build to asking about wedding colors. Yeosang wonders if the man is capable of sympathy or empathy, or if that part of his brain just completely shut down from lack of use.

 

“Boyfriend,” Kevin’s voice floats up from his work station below.

 

Yeosang refuses to answer.

 

“Boyfriend,” The hybrid says again. “Boyfriend?”

 

Yeo holds onto the hope that if he doesn’t respond, Kevin will think he’s asleep.

 

“Boyfriend, I have your vitals on a monitor I know you’re awake.”

 

Fuck.

 

“Boyfriend.”

 

No.

 

“Boyfriend.”

 

Yeosang isn’t going to answer.

 

“Boyfrieend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend-boyfriend-boyfriend-boyfriend-boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfrieeeee-” He holds out the syllable like he’s singing a note. It drones on for a duration that would be impressive in some alternate universe. 

 

In this one, however, it’s grating.

 

“-eeeeeeend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend? Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend boyfriend-boyfriend-boyfriend, boyfriend boyfriend, boyfrieeee-”

 

“What?!” Yeosang caves. He’s too damn tired to try and be strong. Though he’d scarcely seen the other’s face, he can picture the other’s wide grin.

 

“Are these artificial sinews protein based or synthetic. My scope’s giving a conflicting reading…”

 

The cyborg heaves a sigh. It’s a technical question, thank god. Those are more bearable, at least. It’s a slight silver lining.

 

“Both,” Yeosang clarifies. “I printed the protein fiber and then had the synthetic spun around it at moderate tension.”

 

“The synthetic’s properties…” Kevin muses aloud. “You reinforced the protein base. Hm.” He gets quiet.

 

Exhaustion threatens to pull Yeosang under. His vision dims, blackening at the edges. Shutting his eyes for even the briefest of seconds feels so sweet. Sleep grows immensely tempting, but every time his consciousness teeters on the precipice, panic jerks him back awake. It’s not as if he has ample tools to defend himself presently, but the thought of sleeping with that lunatic handling his limbs too much to bear.

 

“It’s okay if you wanna sleep. I won’t wake you up,” Kevin speaks up as if he can read Yeosang’s mind. Just the thought of the other being in his head irks him.

 

Still, he doesn’t answer.

 

He tries to contemplate his options yet again. So far, his efforts toward productive thought have proven futile. Every time he tries to do what he normally does - analyze and theorize - he gets distracted. The hybrid says something, or the cyborg gets too caught up in visions of worst case scenarios. The idea of sleeping with the other around frightens him too much.

 

_ “Thud.” “Clunk, clink, clunk…” _

 

Yeosang freezes. Dread petrifies him as he hears the soft sound of footfalls on metal. 

 

_ “Thud-thud. Clang-thud…” _

 

It gets closer.

  
_ He _ gets closer.

 

Yeosang steels himself for whatever’s to come. The other hadn’t hurt him - not since fingering his nerve endings, anyways. However, Yeo isn’t confident that means Kevin  _ won’t _ hurt him. His entire body tenses in anticipation, and he begs internally that he won’t do a one-eighty and go berserk.

 

_ “Thud- Thud- Clank- Thud-thud.” _

 

Yeosang winces when he sees the other in view. The hybrid navigates the cluster of metal beams and cables effortlessly until landing on a beam to Yeo’s right. The cyborg swallows nervously as the lemur looms closer. Yeo’s heart bumps against his sternum with its unnerved beating.

 

Shockingly, Kevin remains silent. Heh ops off of his perch onto the platform that Yeo’s table is on and walks around. Yeo felt certain the other would’ve said something by now. He’d expected the drawn out lilt of “boyfriend” or some nonsensical remark about their “wedding”. It gets to the point that Yeosang has to let out the breath that’d he’d unintentionally bottled up. It comes out, ragged, and Kevin raises his brows.

 

“Shawty, you good?”

 

Yeo grimaces at that. He begrudgingly prefers boyfriend.

 

“Aw, that’s right, I forgot. You just wanna be boyfriend,” Kevin chuckles. Through the goggles, Yeo can’t tell where the other’s looking which unnerves him even more. One of the few tools he has at his disposal is his eyes. If he can’t use even his vision, he’ll feel even more hopeless than before.

 

Thankfully, the hybrid slides his goggles down again. Or, at least, Yeosang thought he’d be thankful. But when he looks into those eyes, he wishes the other had kept those big round lenses on. 

 

Kevin’s eyes are dark. So, so dark. His face falls blank, and he just stares. Silence fills the room, thick like a heavy fog. It fills Yeo’s lungs and chokes him. What the hell is the matter with Kevin Moon? It didn’t take long for Yeosang to figure out that something’s not quite right with the guy - but this?

 

This is terrifying.

 

Will a storm follow this calm? Did something inadvertently light the fuse that’s to cause the seemingly inevitable explosion?

 

Yeosang cobbles together the wits he can manage and tries to think his way through the situation. The hybrid is loony but has yet to display outward aggressiveness. Something’s made him take pause. Yeosang hadn’t gotten any sense that the other had any type of machinery or augments, but he wonders if something short-circuited. Perhaps stimulation could jumpstart his brain, prompt his thoughts to refresh.

 

Engaging with the other is the last thing Yeosang wishes to do. However, the alternative of some manic outburst is highly unfavorable.

 

Reluctantly, Yeosang mumbles, “K...K-Kevin?”

 

Nothing. Dead eyes and statue stark.

 

“Ke...Vi-”

 

“Hm?” The hybrid bounces like he’d just been woken up. Had he… Fallen asleep standing up?  _ With his eyes open? _

 

God, Yeosang winces - the guy gets freakier every second.

 

“U-Uh, when can I get my limbs back?” Yeo blurts the question out. He doesn’t want the other getting weird ideas about why he’d called his name.

 

“When I’m done with ‘em,” A little grin teases at Kevin’s lips. Whatever lapse he’d suffered had gone just as quickly as it came. “Though I can’t return your arm until I get a ring for that finger,” He smirks.

 

Fantastic.

 

He’s back.

 

“I-I’m sure there are plenty of more suitable partners for you on this big ship. You and all the… Stray… Boyz?”

 

“Oof,” Kevin’s nose scrunches. He withdraws a little pen-looking object from his pocket. The end of it lights up, and a tractor beam traces the empty sockets on Yeo’s thighs. As the device apparently intakes data, the hybrid keeps talking. “So you caught that, huh? The ‘Stray Boyz’ good lord. Those guys are nuts- but not, like,  _ fun _ nuts, you know?”

 

Yeosang just grunts. At this point, he knows it doesn’t matter if he answers or not. The other is gonna do and say whatever the hell he wants.

 

“That Chan guy’s a total fucking buzzkill. Doesn’t let me test shit on his people- like, how am I supposed to develop a good poison without a few subjects, y’know?” He squats down, apparently to get closer to his subject of study. Yeosang gulps nervously. The other’s proximity provides a painful reminder that the only barrier between him and Kevin’s gaze is a flimsy gown.

 

Though a meager consolation, Kevin opts to continue rambling as opposed to making any lewd comments, “And then, there’s one fucker who keeps drawing dicks on Hwall’s forgeries- I know it’s one of them. Probably Hyunjin, the fucker,” Kevin groans. Yeosang can’t see perfectly, but from the other’s position, he’s guessing that the guy’s inspecting his leg sockets. 

 

“Basically they’re goddamn savages, and they have the gall to call me a freak?! Like- I had to fight tooth and nail to get my own lab! Well- Okay, between you and me,” Kevin lowers his voice to a whisper, “I did blow up the other two shared labs on purpose, but I left no trace! I mean, seriously? They expected me to share space with  _ arms augmenters _ . Yeah, lemme stick a giant scope on a laser shooter because  _ that’s _ science. Fucking hell- If I wanted to do arts and crafts I’d just shack up with Hwall.”

 

For the first time, Kevin’s blathering piques Yeosang’s interest. He’d never figured out the situation on the ship, and now he has a chance to. Once again, it makes him ill to actually converse with the other, but curiosity has always ruled over the cyborg. More crucially: it could come in handy.

 

Yeosang tries to ask in a way that doesn’t make it obvious he’s prying for the sake of prying, “That seems… Unfavorable. Why are you forced to cohabitate with them- with people like that, anyway?”

 

Kevin blinks confusedly for a second. Yeosang’s genuine response obviously took him by surprise. Luckily, he doesn’t latch onto the question and use it as an excuse to be extra unbearable. He answers it in his own, rambling way, a little grin on his lips.

 

“Shit, if only it was one thing. The fucking Coalition’s made it real hard for us. You can’t make an honest living being dishonest anymore. We had a few real bad busts, and apparently Chan’s kiddos had a damn mole. They got fucked. Thing about our clientele is that they’re real skittish. One whiff of trouble and they’re outtie. So after getting catfished by some Coalition cosplayers twice- well, it hurt our good reputation.”

 

“So- You guys really fell on hard times?” Yeo asks.

 

“Hard’s an understatement, I mean- look at the company we’re keeping!” Kevin’s voice bounces off of the high ceiling. “I mean- They have no appreciation for- for refinement or workmanship. They don’t respect anything, like- the other day I saw one of them picking his teeth with a  _ syringe- _ ” (Yeo nearly faints from the mental image.) “-right?! But oh  _ I’m _ the weird one because I’ve got a tail and I grow mushrooms in the vents and I don’t like shoes and I -  _ allegedly _ \- set Minho on fire one time.” He throws his hands up.

 

“It was one time- allegedly. How the hell are you supposed to test a fireproof textile coating if  _ not _ with a flamethrower?”

 

“Allegedly?” Yeo’s brows raise incredulously.

 

“Exactly,” The hybrid heaves a deep sigh, “See, that’s why I like you, so much, boyfriend.” He steps over and rests his arms on the slab next to Yeo’s face. Yeosang represses his reflexive urge to shrink away. Kevin sighs again, this time it’s a drawn-out sort of a swoon, “You get it.”

 

“I… Get it?” Yeo responds. He’s really not interested in getting  _ anything _ Kevin has. 

 

“Mhm,” The hybrid nods and grins. “You and I are alike.”

 

Yeosang nearly gasps, but he chokes on the sound and he ends up coughing violently. They what? Yeo’s not sure he’d ever been so insulted in his life.

 

“R-Really?” Yeo wheezes.

 

The hybrid nods, “You understand and appreciate the noble pursuit of discovery. You’ve risked your own wellbeing because you understand that reward outweighs any risk in the pursuit of progress. That’s why I adore you so much. You’re smart and handsome and self-made in  _ every _ sense of the word.” He starts walking his fingers on the work table, dangerously close to the cyborg’s arm. Just a few centimeters and they’d be walking along his flesh. The mere thought makes Yeosang shudder. 

 

“I just did what I had to do,” Yeo answers gruffly.

 

“Exactly. Not everyone’s brave enough to do that- did I mention that? That you’re brave.  _ Ugh _ my boyfriend’s the best!” Kevin giggles giddily.

 

“What about you, then? Lemur hybrids must be, uh- pretty rare,” Yeosang asks in hopes that the other changes the subject. If he’s lucky, Kevin will go off on a tangent again, and he can zone out - think of a way out.

 

“See? More common ground,” The hybrid’s smile falters slightly. “The thing about people like you and me. We weren’t born...

 

We were made.”

 

“Wha-”

 

Before Yeo can finish that thought, a noise interrupts him.

 

_ “Beep-! Beep-! Beep-” _

 

Unsurprisingly, Kevin’s attention gets completely captured, “Oh! Tissue analysis is done!”

 

With that, he’s off. Whatever elaboration he’d had is gone, up in flames along with his attention span. It does nothing to soothe his anxieties. Kevin’s lack of aggression is hardly a consolation. If anything, seeing the hybrid just halt only further disturbs the cyborg.

 

His eyes shut without conscious consent, but he doesn’t bother struggling to keep them open this time. The last thought passing his mind before passing out is a prayer for his fellow crew.   
  



	4. Chapter 4

_“Thud… Thud… Thud… Thud…”_

 

A soft sound echoes down the corridor, rousing Hongjoong from his half-asleep daze. He scuttles over to the bars, glancing down the corridor. 

 

“Are they coming?” Seonghwa asks softly. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the two had the civil conversation regarding their plans.

 

“I don’t see anyone yet,” Hongjoong whispers. He pauses to listen.

 

_“Thud. Thud. Thud…”_

 

“I think it’s getting closer,” Seonghwa remarks.

 

It’d been maybe an hour or two since they’d come to a consensus. Hongjoong simultaneously likes and dislikes the plan at the same time. It can go terribly wrong, and he’s almost certain it’ll go too far. Beats brooding in the cell, though.

 

“Mn… H-” _“Thud. Thud. Thud…”_ “F… N… Re…” “Thud…”

 

“I think that’s people,” Hongjoong bites his lip nervously. “You think this’ll work?”

 

Seonghwa purses his lips, “It ought to. Unless they’re total barbarians.”

 

“Right. Great. Cool. Should we, uh-” Joong gesturs up vaguely, and Seonghwa nods. The two stand up, tensity filling the air. Footsteps against metal approach slowly, giving Hongjoong ample time to worry. Stress frazzles in his chest like a frayed, impossible knot. He’s not sure it’ll get untangled any time soon and tries to reconcile with the unpleasant sensation.

 

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Hongjoong catches Seonghwa stepping closer. Without warning, the petty officer lifts his hand, delivering a swift blow across the captain’s face.

 

 _“Thwap-!”_   


Needling pain shoots into his cheek, sweltering in the wake of the contact. Hongjoong reels back, stumbling into the wall behind him, and gasps.

 

“What the hell was that for?” He hisses. “They’re not here yet, you fucking moron.”

 

“I know,” Seonghwa responds cooly. He doesn’t even have the courtesy to look smug or satisfied about it. The fucker. “That was just a test smack.”

 

“Yeah, well, test successfu-”

 

_“Thwaaap!”_

 

He does it again (on the same cheek), and needles puncture his cheek yet again. Hongjoong clenches his fists, ready to return the blow as he glowers at the other.

 

Seonghwa smirks, “That one was for fun.”

 

The captain huffs, lunging toward the other, “You-”

 

“...eck on the others…” _“Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud…”_ “-aven’t heard from him, either? Did you try his…?” _“Thud. Thud…”_

 

Seonghwa holds a finger to his lips which successfully pisses off Hongjoong even more. He reigns it back for the moment. Soon, he tells himself. Very, very soon.

 

 _“Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud…”_ “Did  you check the feeds?” “Not yet, haven’t had time. Had some other shit to do. Some gopher shit for Chan and needed to pick up some cels from Hwall. Do you, uh, do you know him well?” “What?” “Hwall. Just, uh- Just curious…”

 

Hongjoong only hears two of them, which is good. He’s not confident they could take more than that. No doubt they’re armed. Hopefully, neither of them has too twitchy a trigger finger. The steps advance, closer, closer, closer… 

 

He and Seonghwa have a quick, silent exchange. They lock eyes and nod. “Count down from three,” Seonghwa mouths out. Hongjoong watches the other stick up three fingers.

 

“You’re just curious?” One of the people approaching asks.

 

“Y-Yeah. Y’know.”

 

“Dude, trust me. Hwall is not interested.”

 

Seonghwa mouths out “two” and puts down a finger.

 

“You think Mia got to him first?”

 

“Wh- No. Dude- He’s just a workaholic. He’s in love with… Paint.”

 

The PO puts down another finger, mouthing out: “three”. Hongjoong nods and checks out the bars. Two figures walk toward them. With each second, each step, they get closer into view. When they’re just a few meters away, Joong waves to Seonghwa. Seonghwa nods before bursting forward.

  
He grabs a fistful of Hongjoong’s shirt and slams him against the wall making a sound as loud as possible.

 

 _“Booom!!”_ The body against hollow metal accomplishes the task, echoing down the hallway.

 

“...What’s that?” One of the voices down the hall asks.

 

Seonghwa whispers, “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

 

Hongjoong grimaces, “Oh fuck _off_.” With that, he raises a leg, kneeing Seonghwa somewhere between the stomach and the groin. The platinum blond clutches his gut and lumbers back. “Should we- should we, like, shout?”

 

Seongwha, still recovering takes a millisecond to think before nodding affirmatively, “Yeah. Yeah more violent.”

 

“More violent,” Hongjoong mutters. “Right. More violent. I can do that, we can-”

 

“Fuck you!” Seonghwa bellows, roughly shoving Joong into the wall again. He puts down a finger, whispering, “Two.”

 

Joong checks out the bars again. Their jailers have picked up their pace, curious. God, he thinks, that corridor is damn long. They still look small in the distance.

 

“The _fuck_ did you just say to me?” Hongjoong fires back loudly. He notices the pair coming into his peripheral vision. He mimics the other, shoving him back forcefully. 

 

“I think you can do better,” Seonghwa murmurs lowly.

 

He thinks the captain can do better? Hongjoong’s face drops into an expression of disbelief. What the fuck?

 

“Are you- Are you criticizing my fake anger?” Hongjoong asks in disbelief.

 

“I know for a fact you can do better, really. In the interrogation office, you lost your- you know what, maybe I should provoke you more.”

 

“You’re provocative enough,” Hongjoong says through gritted teeth. “Trust me.”

 

“I’m not really buying i-”

 

_“Thwak!!”_

 

“D’you buy that?” Hongjoong snarks after landing a sucker punch on Seonghwa’s face. 

 

The petty officer rubs his sore jaw for a second and nods, “It was better. Check.”

 

Joong spies out the bars again. They’re closer. Fuck. They need to escalate things fast. Hongjoong has fantasized about whooping Seonghwa’s ass for ages. But doing it with the guy’s consent sort of dampens the mood.

 

“Fuck,” Hongjoong replies. “We should, um- More violent.”

  
“Right. More violent. Yeah, um-” Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchange rather. “I- I feel like- like we’re hesitating.”

 

“Yeah, yeah we are we should-” The captain peeks out through the bars again. They’re getting closer. Fuck. “-we should not do that, uh.” Their gazes find one another, and things get awkward again. Hongjoong always imagined that, at some point, he’d actually fight the guy. He was never sure how or why, it just seemed like sort of an inevitability, really. This, however, is far from what he’d imagined. It sounded like such a good plan at the time: fight, cause such a fuss that they (probably) can’t be ignored. When the guards come in to peel them apart, that’s when they strike. It’s solid enough. Except, there has to be a fight for that.

 

“W-Well, get angry,” Seonghwa whispers demandingly.

 

Hongjoong’s face scrunches with incredulity, “I- What?”

 

“Get angry.”

 

“I _am_ angry.”

 

“Then- Then do something about it.”

 

“Okay- Contrary to what you think, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

 

“That’s fucking rich.”

 

“Shut up. Anyways why do _I_ have the burden of punching the go button? You’re way more violent than me.”

 

“I _am_ not violent,” Seonghwa spits back. “C’mon. Get motivated.”

 

“Fuck you, I- I-” On one hand, Hongjoong really, really wants to punch Seonghwa. On the other hand, Seonghwa wants to be punched. Therefore, punching Seonghwa fulfills his desire which causes major cognitive dissonance for the captain. His eyes flit out the bars again and - fuck - they’re close. The two aren’t paying attention, thankfully. If they were, they’d probably notice Joong watching them.

 

“Get motivated,” Seonghwa says again. Annoying.

 

Joong glares, watching the pair of jailors approach as he begs himself to act on the impulse itching at his brain. But he can’t. There’s so many conflicting forces at work. His inclination to give into anger versus his disinclination from working with PO Prettyboy, his dislike for violence versus his urge to just pulverize the blond.

 

“Come on. Get. Motivated,” Seonghwa hisses clippedly.

 

_“Smack.”_

 

Hongjoong freezes. 

 

He’d been so preoccupied looking out the bars he didn’t notice the other had gotten closer to him. Fire ignites at the point of contact, instantly swelling into a raging blaze. The heat ripples through his body violently, cooking his guts in roiling indignation. 

 

“Did you just smack my ass?” Hongjoong asks in disbelief.

 

The PO quirks an eyebrow and shrugs.

 

Things escalate quickly from there.

 

Much like weeks before, Hongjoong isn’t quite in his own body for an instant. One second, he’s processing the realization that Petty Officer Park smacked his ass. The next, he’s on top of the guy, punching him senseless.

 

At least, he’s trying to.

 

The element of surprise isn’t on his side this time, and the PO actually fends him off. 

 

“Fucking prick putting your hands on me!” Hongjoong shouts at the other angrily. He aims a fist at Seonghwa’s face, but the PO catches his wrist.

 

“Uh- I’ll put my hands where I want!” Seonghwa yells back. He blocks a few more blows to his face before throwing Hongjoong off balance.

 

Joong teeters off of the PO and finds himself pinned. Seonghwa immediately goes for the neck, but the captain deflects the hand and starts flailing. The two grapple, and Hongjoong hears stampeding footsteps coming toward them.

 

“Whoa- Whoa- The hell is this?!” One of the people - Joong’s too distracted to see - asks.

 

Hongjoong only barely notices. He doesn’t even have to pretend to ignore them - his vision’s still seething red, and he wants his revenge. The captain manages to land another blow or two onto the PO’s cheek. It’s incredible, Joong thinks, all the blows to the face and the officer’s not even bruising. Hongjoong makes a mental note that he ought to spar with one of his crew, but the thought’s quickly shunted away as the other’s fist grazes his ear.

 

Tired of being under the other, Hongjoong shimmies to get into a better position and knees the other in the tailbone. It accomplishes the task of getting the other to take pause. Seonghwa’s face contorts with pain, and Hongjoong quickly capitalizes on the distraction. He throws the PO off of himself and shuffles away. All the while, they both bark vague obscenities and insults at one another.

 

Seonghwa’s quick, though, and a hand closes around Joong’s ankle before he can get more than a stride away.

 

“Hey- Hey! Break it up!” One of the gangsters yells.

 

Seonghwa yanks Hongjoong by the ankle, sending him straight onto his stomach. The rough fall makes him whirl from the pain, rendering him unable to aptly retaliate before the other’s on top of him again. He feels like he’s getting arrested with the way Seonghwa grabs one of his wrists and pins it against his back. 

 

A jailor snarls,”Yo- Break it up! Goddamit- Fuckin-”

 

“This is getting bad, should we intervene?” His cohort asks.

 

Hongjoong growls at the blond on top of him, “You- Fucking- _Prick-_ ” Seonghwa actually has the nerve to use a free hand _to cover Hongjoong’s mouth_. 

 

“Do you ever shut the hell up you fucking brat?!” Seonghwa snaps back.

 

In the meanwhile, the two gawkers mutter to one another,“Shit, this looks dire- Should we?” “I- I don’t know-”

 

Rage spikes up from Joong’s gut, spurring his heart. He arches his back and wriggles in hopes to get loose. Remembering he’s got a free hand, he reaches back and starts mindlessly slapping the other. The angle’s awkward, but with PO Park leaning down, Joong just barely manages to reach his head. He grips a fistful of hair and yanks roughly.

 

“Ow- _Fuck_!” Seonghwa hisses, and his grip slackens. Unfortunately, that just prompts him to put more weight onto the captain. The petty officer leans down more. He goes from straddling to practically laying on top of Hongjoong, and if the captain hadn’t been in a frenzied state before, he sure the fuck is now. 

 

“Oh- Oh god this is- We really should break this up.” “God- You’re right this is gross, okay-”

 

“Fuck you!” Joong snarls, trying too tug the other’s hair again. Seonghwa snatches the one wrist Joong had out of the air, and now they’re both pinned to his back. “Fuck you-”

 

“Alright, alright, break it up!” One of the jailers shouts loudly.

 

 _“Shiff.”_ The cell door opens with a soft noise, and suddenly all of the anger flushes out of the captain. As much as he’d love to continue his conversation with Petty Officer Park Seonghwa, he officially has more pressing matters to tend to. Still, for the sake of the plan, he doesn’t acknowledge the new entrants, instead writhing beneath the other’s hold.

 

The two stride in, angrily berating the two: “Break it up!” “Get the fuck off him, now!” “Get off!” 

 

Seonghwa wraps a hand around Hongjoong’s neck, and genuine alarm bells sound off in the captain’s head. He struggles more. The pressure is gentle - at least to start. A pang of regret knocks at the captain’s head, and he wonders if he’d made a mistake. No amount of writhing or kicking shakes the PO, and the litany of curses spilling out of Hongjoong’s lips become more strained.

 

“Break it up!” “Get the fuck off, now!” “Don’t make me draw my gun!” “Break it the fuck up!” “No sex in the cells!”

 

In that moment, their entire charade disintegrates.

 

“What?!” “What the fuck did you just say?!” The PO and captain shout at the same time, both staring daggers at the jailer who’d said it.

 

For the first time, Hongjoong gets a good look at the guy. A young looking brunette donning dark clothing glowers at them with his arms crossed. Next to him stands an equally unamused-looking blond in a bright-blue jersey of sorts.

 

“That’s right- No sex in the cell, now get the fuck off!” The blond chides them.

 

Brunette withdraws a gun from, well, from somewhere, and points it in their general direction.

  
Seonghwa and Hongjoong, stunned from utter and complete disbelief, talk over one another: “What?!” “This is- This- How do you-” “We’re- How are we-?!”

 

“I know foreplay when I see it!” The brunette glares, pushing down the hammer of his pistol.

 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa exchange baffled looks. There’s… A lot to unpack there, but for once the two agree on something and opt to burn the entire suitcase. Joong glances at Seonghwa, then the door, then their (not very intelligent) jailers. They nod to one another, and that’s it.

 

Seonghwa hops off of Joong, and swings for the brunette. Before Blondie can even react, Hongjoong’s on his feet, giving the other the same treatment. Blondie staggers a bit, but the blow to his head was quick and precise. He crumbles onto the ground. The petty officer disarms Brunette and pistolwhips him right on the temple.

 

“Night, night,” Seonghwa mutters, watching the dazed brunette lumber back. 

 

 _“Thuump!”_ He falls on top of his comrade unceremoniously. 

 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa stand in silence for a few minutes, just catching their breaths. Everything happened so fast. One second they sat on opposite sides of the cell, the next they were on top of one another. 

 

Joong nudges one of the gangsters with his boot - just to make sure he’s _out_ out. No response comes from the limp, unconscious body. Good, he thinks. At least one thing’s gone right today. He glances out the open cell door and, in spite of himself, guffaws.

  
Did that just work?

 

Did _they_ just work?

 

His eyes shift over to Seonghwa who appears similarly ragged. Usually pristine hair falls onto his forehead and even sticks out in a few places. He stands back, observing the felled Stray Kids (or Boyz). Gripped in his hand is the pistol he’d swiped from one of the jailers.

 

Joong’s heart stops.

 

He’s got the pistol. 

 

Fuck.

 

He knows he ought to run right about now, but his feet are glued in place. He can’t bring himself to move - why can’t he move? He supposes that it doesn’t matter, really. One of those things so much as grazes him, he’s probably down for the count. And who, of all people, has the power to do that right now?

 

Park Seonghwa.

 

The person in the universe who hates him the most. The person who has so much to gain from taking him out.

 

Seonghwa’s gaze switches from the bodies on the floor to the one standing a few paces away. Panic jolts through Hongjoong when their eyes meet.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

To make matters worse, the PO glances down at the gun. He inspects the damn thing, testing the weight in his hand. He even fiddles with one of the buttons - god knows what.

 

Fuck.

 

The hand holding the gun moves, and panic petrifies Hongjoong, cementing him to the spot in which he stands. The spot in which he’ll die, no doubt. Gaze turning to Hongjoong once again, Seonghwa lifts the pistol and…

 

Sheathes it beneath the waistband of his pants.

 

“Let’s see if they’ve got anything useful. Keycards, IDs…” Seongwha nods to the two sleeping beauties on the ground.

 

Hongjoong lets out the breath that’d gotten cooped up in his throat. Though the initial panic dissipates, remnants stubbornly remain, dancing beneath his skin, prodding his heart and stomach.

 

“R-Right,” Hongjoong nods numbly. “Right,” He says again more firmly.

 

The two search the bodies. Turns out, Blondie was armed, too. In his back pocket, the pair find a tiny laser pistol. It’s almost adorable, how little it is. The thing probably has a magazine of four shots if that. It’s probably meant for emergencies only. Lucky for them, Blondie didn’t think the situation dire enough to draw his weapon.

 

They each have ID cards of sorts. For access to what, Hongjoong has no idea. Their content isn’t very helpful. Joong learns that their two jailers are named Minho and Jacob. The cards denote the date of birth and (of all things) zodiac sign. Hongjoong briefly wonders if the person’s zodiac sign is actually a code for something else. However, he doesn’t dwell on it much. Seems like a small detail.

 

Lastly - and most importantly - they each have little communicators affixed to their wrists. They’re attached superficially - just little screens kept on the surface via embedded magnets.

 

“You think we can snatch one of these?” Hongjoong asks. Asking PO Park a genuine question feels incredibly strange.

 

The platinum blond squats down and studies one further, “I dunno. My guess is that demagnetizing it will compromise its function entirely.” He experimentally tugs at the thing. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t budge. “We’d have to disable the electromagnet somehow. Unless you feel keen on playing doctor again and cutting it out.” He glares at Hongjoong.

 

The captain rolls his eyes, “Fine, we can do without. Let’s go.” He doesn’t wait for the other to respond before rushing out of the cell. After all, he still doesn’t trust the guy. For all he knows, PO Prettyboy planned to make a run for it and shut Joong in the cell with the gangsters. That’d make for a pretty damn ugly scene come wakeup time.

 

Seonghwa follows at the other’s heels, quickly smashing the cell’s keypad to shut the door.

 

“To the hangar, then,” Seonghwa mutters. It’s clear he’s speaking more for propriety than a desire for conversation. Honestly, they both are.

 

There is no camaraderie, no relishing in their triumph or elation at knowing that the other is okay - that they’re okay. No. This is a job, a mission. Their union is a mere means to an end, and whatever civility they’ve mustered will expire the second they’re back to safety on ATEEZ.

 

“I need to find the others first,” Hongjoong replies, looking ahead and not directly at Seonghwa.

 

“You- What?! Are you serious?”

 

“They’re my crew,” Joong answers gruffly. Figures he’d think that the captain would just leave them there. There are probably _actual_ murderers who Seonghwa thinks more highly of than the captain.

 

“Are you insane?”

 

“I’m loyal.”

 

“I thought you were _a scorpio_ ,” The PO snarks. Joong gives him the finger for that. “Fine,” The PO concedes, “We’ll find your damn crew- only if you agree to hold up your end of the bargain.”

 

Hongjoong looks the other in the eye, “Of course.” He extends his hand and sticks out a pinky, “Promise. We get my crew. You get dropped off on a planet with Coalition presence - and don’t call the feds on us the second you touch down. Deal?”

 

Seonghwa eyes the captain’s pinky dubiously. Hongjoong isn’t sure what’s running through the guy’s mind. Betrayal? It’s likely. But there’s also the chance that it’s something _not_ hellbent on destroying Hongjoong and everything he knows. Maybe.

 

The blond links his pinky with Hongjoong’s and nods, “You get your crew. I get my freedom and… Let you go-”

 

“Good-”

 

“For now,” Seonghwa adds sternly. He narrows his eyes, “Remember, the second that the parameters of our arrangement expire, I’ll come for you _hard_.”

 

Hongjoong presses his lips together, suppressing the urge to guffaw.

 

“Phrasing,” He spits out before taking his pinky back. He doesn’t wait for the other to comprehend before clinging to the nearest wall and slinking onward. “So, you, uh, got any brilliant ideas as to how to proceed?” He asks, eyes trained down the corridor. It’s long, lined with cell after cell after cell - all identical. The sameness of it all makes the damn place feel infinite. It’s daunting, but Joong swallows down the knot of nerves bubbling up in this throat. Now’s not the time. He has a crew to find and a pompous petty officer to keep in check.

 

Seonghwa scuttles over to Joong’s side, adopting his stealthy, slow pace against the wall, “Actually, I recognize this model.”

 

Hongjoong pauses, quirking an eyebrow, “You recognize this model?”

 

The PO nods, “This ship, I mean-” As if Joong didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. “-it’s a Coalition warship. Old, not as automated, not as nice, but functional. How the hell they got their hands on an Anaconda, I have no idea.”

 

Joong neglects to comment on the cute little naming system the GC’s come up with their ships. Snakes - it figures. It suits the Coalition, he thinks. They lurk, camouflaged under the guise of benevolent shelter then strike when their prey least expect it, rotting them from the inside out with toxic venom. It’s a fit, for sure.

 

“Just how well are you acquainted with the model?” Hongjoong asks. 

 

“Not very. I, uh…” He looks at the captain dubiously for a moment. The captain wonders what the hell is going through the guy’s head. He seems to be thinking about something. Or he’s constipated. Honestly, Hongjoong finds it hard to tell sometimes. After hesitating, he coughs out an elaboration: “In my training, I toured one. Spent a small bit of time.”

 

“So you know the layout?” Finally. Something useful. If Hongjoong went back in time and told himself the PO’s malevolent presence would come in handy, he’d punch himself.

 

“W-Well, there’s no telling what these hooligans have done with it, but I have a very vague idea of the optimal layout. Surely they haven’t swapped around too much.”

 

Hongjoong bites his tongue when he hears the word “hooligans” used unironically. God, he wishes he could make fun of the other right now. Unfortunately Petty Officer Prettyboy’s his only friend right now. (And referring to him as a “friend” is likely the most liberally that word’s ever been used in all time.) Pushing buttons - while very fun - is something Hongjoong decides he ought to be more careful about, for both of their sakes. He’s not eager to get strangled, and surely Seonghwa would agree: the less talking the better. 

 

“Okay, so… Where do we begin?” Hongjoong asks.

 

“I have no idea where we’re at, so getting out of this maze of cells is a start,” Seonghwa breathes out nervously. “Cells tend to be spread out. A block on the east wing of one level, a block on the west of another. They designed them to be sparse so squads could be spread out when they’re captured.”

 

“Hm. Nice. Wait- So, that means this’ll be the only cell block on this floor,” Joong frowns. That means they’ll have to change levels completely to find his crew. Fuck.

 

“Correct. Unless they’ve refitted wings. I doubt a bunch of gangsters have much use for empty cells. If anything, they’ve probably converted a good number to storage,” Seonghwa shrugs. “Regardless- Cell blocks tend to be off of what you can think of as… Branches. Branches meet the main thoroughfare at the center of the ship. Of course, sometimes there are branches coming off of branches…”

 

“And…?”

 

The PO rolls his eyes at the captain’s impatience, “I was getting to it.”

 

“We don’t exactly have all the time in the world,” Joong grumbles.

 

Seonghwa halts, crossing his arms and looking at the other indignantly, “I understand that rushing into things impulsively with no thought whatsoever is how you do things. I, however, like to think things through and plan. I get it. All this strategizing must hurt your brain-”

 

“ _Alright_ ,” Hongjoong cuts the other off clippedly. Now is not the fucking time. They’d just gotten out of a fake fight, starting a _real_ one would just be going backwards at this point. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. Carry on.”

 

“Fuck’s sake-” Seonghwa’s nose wrinkles momentarily before he continues, “As I was saying- or as I was going to say- where every branch meets the main thoroughfare- or, well, right before that point, there is always a control hub.”

 

“A control hub?”

 

“Yes, a control hub. Essentially a room or area or office- I don’t know this particular ship- it- well, it controls the branch. Lights, power, locks, security feeds. Obviously it’s hooked up to the ship’s main server. Assuming they haven’t messed with the hub’s functionality or links, it ought to have a wealth of resources. Maps, security feeds, maybe even plans.”

 

Maps.

 

“Think it’ll be able to tell me which cells are occupied?”

 

The platinum blond shrugs, “Something like that. Cells usually log when they’re opened and closed. It’ll be a start for you to find your… Lovely crew.”

 

“Don’t suppose it’ll be easy getting into their system,” Hongjoong worries at his lower lip thinking about it. He’s no Wooyoung or Yeosang, and he’s got a feeling software isn’t Seonghwa’s playing field, either. 

 

“We’ll have to try,” Seonghwa replies. 

 

It’s… Weirdly reassuring. Or it would be, coming from anyone else. Hearing the civility gives Joong a strange feeling, one he can’t quite describe. 

 

“We”.

 

He said _“we”_.

 

They’re really in this together.

 

Even if only for now, they’re in this together.

 

“R-Right. Okay,” Hongjoong tries not to sound as taken aback as he is. Usually he’s the one encouraging others, reassuring them that there’s a way, that they have to at least try. “And if we run into trouble?”

 

“We’re armed. We take them out.”

 

We. _We._ There it is again, and with the word comes the aching pang of something inexpressible.

 

Hongjoong stamps it down. There’s no time for that - for going off on tangents, thinking about “what if”s. About “we”s. 

 

“Let’s go,” The captain nods, continuing his stealthy trip down the corridor. 

 

With that, the two advance stealthily into the belly of the beast.

 

* * *

 

Traveling in a larger group makes being sneaky hard.

  
Traveling with a guy who has a tail makes being sneaky even harder.

 

Traveling with a sheltered Venusian (not) prince who jumps every time the aforementioned tail so much as swipes him on accident makes being sneaky even harder.

 

However, none of these challenges feels nearly as insurmountable as having to keep it together while traveling in the presence of a very, very pissed siren.

 

Wooyoung has learned these things in the past hour or so, having experience firsthand just how difficult life can be as a prisoner to the mob.

 

When he presses his ear to the cool, metal door along one of many jutting hallways, he can hear them all in the background. He hears Yunho fussing over Mingi who is fussing over Yunho. He hears Jongho whispering to San about plans of attack (“I can hold one or two easy, you take them out quickly with targeted blows,” he says). He can’t hear, but he feels the daggers being driven into his back by the siren himself. Hell, the hume’s own heartbeat even serves to impede his hearing, beating too loud and too fast for his liking. 

 

All in all, that makes his job of trying to hear what’s on the other side of the door very difficult.

 

“Would you quiet down?” Wooyoung whispers fervently. He feels sweat clam up on his nape. They’d trekked out of their cell block and ambled down a few corridors before agreeing on an actual plan. It’s loose, but at least it’s something.

 

Step one: steal fuel cells. Yunho impressed upon them the importance of this. Obviously the warship will have tons of them, and without the fuel, ATEEZ isn’t going anywhere. In order to really escape, they need to jump. To jump, they need as much fuel as possible.

 

It’s a nice, dandy idea, save for the fact that they have no idea where anything is on the massive vessel. Every second spent searching or wondering is a second in which they can be found (or the bodies they’d left slumped in their cells can be). Thankfully, Yunho kinda, sorta knows how luzidium smells and thinks he can maybe track some. It’s better than nothing, they agreed.

 

Hence, Wooyoung finds himself with his ear pressed to the door, trying to make extra sure that there’s nobody on the other side of it. Yunho already checked twice, but they decided an extra ear doesn’t hurt. Beats coming face to face with a Stray Boy.

 

Assuming everything goes well, they can then move onto step two: 

 

Find the captain and Yeosang.

 

This step is significantly more difficult. Yunho can only track Hongjoong because he’s known the guy for years. However, the ship’s so damn big, it’s highly unlikely he’ll pick up a scent any time soon. Wooyoung vaguely recognizes the massive hunk of metal as a Coalition ship. He proposed they find a PC or hub so he can work his magic. In truth, he’s got no idea what the hell sort of modifications the gang’s made to the ship. It could be an entirely different system altogether.

 

But there’s no use in dwelling on that. Not when they haven’t even finished step one. At least step three is a little bit more familiar.

 

Step three: get to the hangar, into the ship, and the fuck out.

 

While one should not feel comforted by the familiarity of breaking out of a daunting prison on a ship, Wooyoung’s there.

 

“I don’t hear anything,” Wooyoung tells the others. A few relieved sighs come out of the throng. “S-San, you wanna try that card you found?” By some miracle, San found a keycard in the hoodie he’d swiped. Woo prays that whoever he’d knocked out has decently high clearance. It’ll make their job a lot easier. 

 

San steps over to the door, bumping into Wooyoung roughly. He fishes out the card and tries it against the keypad.

 

 _“Beep!”_ The pad chirps, and a green light blinks.

 

“Looks like it works,” San sighs with relief. He steps past Wooyoung as if he’s nothing more than an obstacle, just something someone had left on the ground. Yunho follows at San’s heels, kicking his search into high gear, and Jongho files in after him. It’s Mingi who’s last in - last to cast a knowing glance to Wooyoung who couldn’t muster the guts to get off the ground. He practically feels like it’s where he belongs.

 

Obviously, San overheard everything Wooyoung had ranted about. After the siren had gone on about how humans are greedy, lustful pigs set on conquest, Wooyoung proved him right. It’s not that Wooyoung thinks of himself as above others. On the contrary, he is very well aware that his feet are on the ground, along with everyone else. Lower, even. No, it’s not that.

 

It’s just that, with San, Wooyoung thought that maybe he had a chance. Sure, he’s always been a bit of a fuckup. Breezed his way through a lot of life with sheer talent alone, been the object of resentment because of it. When he actually put his mind to things, he managed to get damn good at a certain set of skills. Skill used to do exactly what the sirens despised the most: conquering others. Wooyoung had indulged in just about anything man possibly could: sex, drugs, violence. (In defense of himself: who _hasn’t?_ )

  
But San _didn’t know that_ when they’d met. 

  
Wooyoung thought (he stupidly, naively wished, really) that maybe he could build himself up a bit. He could be a man, a human that San respected. Not like the others - not a pig, not set on conquering flesh or territory. He wanted to show San that humanity could be more. He wanted to show himself that _he_ could be more.

 

Then he mouthed off about how much he liked fucking strangers, and that went up in flames. Now he has to fend off the perpetual shiver he gets from the siren’s cold scorn. Woo plans on apologizing at some point. He scoops himself off the ground, shoving his ire aside. Even if he can’t be a good man, he can at least be a useful one. 

 

“Finding anything?” Wooyoung whispers as he steps into what appears to be a storage room. It’s not very big, but the ceiling is high and the shelves stocked densely.

 

“I think…” Yunho mutters from one corner of the room, “Over here…” He sounds concentrated. Wooyoung follows the canis’s voice and finds the other in a far corner. “But I don’t see ‘em,” The brunette mutters.

  
Wooyoung scans the immediate area for any fuel cells. There’s some closed, heavy looking containers for god knows what. Mini shield projectors and laserbeam concentrators. Nope, nope, nope… He looks all across the shelving but sees nothing. Then, he gazes up.

 

Bingo.

 

“Up high,” Wooyoung points to a shelf up high. Way high. Probably close to three meters.

 

“Shit,” Yunho’s gaze follows Woo’s fingers to the neatly stacked little purple fuel cells. He experimentally puts his weight onto a shelf at waist-level. “How safe do you think these are for climbing?”

 

Wooyoung lunges toward the other, ripping his hand off the edge of the shelf, “Wh- No, no. I don’t want you cracking your head open- plus it’d make a lot of noise if something fell over.”

 

Yunho pouts, “But… Well, I don’t see a ladder in here, do you?”

 

“I think I can help,” Mingi flashes a little half-grin as he paces over, “If you get down I can sit on your face.”

 

“You can wh- ex-excuse me?!” Yunho blubbers, shocked.

 

“So you can lift me up and I can reach,” Mingi explains. 

  
“Did- Did you mean his shoulders?” Wooyoung asks incredulously.

 

“That’s what I said,” The Venusian replies, straight-faced. Woo actually believes him; the fucker really just mixed up sitting on a person’s shoulders with _face sitting_. Talk about a subconscious slip.

 

A snort sounds out across the room belonging to Jongho, and San titters into his hand soon after. Wooyoung can’t help joining in with his own squeaky cackle. Yunho, in stark contrast, just coughs awkwardly as red floods his cheeks and ears. Mingi (the poor, silly bastard) _still_ looks confused. 

 

The laughter proves a much-needed relief. Their squeaky giggling dissolves most of the tension in the room. Mingi looks utterly lost, as Yunho chokes on air. When they all finally come down from the high of their stupidity, the tensity is diminished. Thank god. Woo casts a hopeful glance toward San, but the siren stubbonly avoids his gaze. Damn. Tensity _almost_ diminished.

 

When Yunho stops combusting, he squats down a bit so Mingi can seat himself on the canis’s shoulders. Carefully, Yunho hoists the other up. The transparent panic on his face is polar opposite Mingi’s cool concentration. 

 

His (not)majesty is smooth, Wooyoung thinks, holding back a smirk. Mingi gives off the impression that he’s innocent and sheltered. That’s what makes him dangerous. Others probably buy that shit, but Woo sure as hell doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t hold it against the guy. On the contrary, he commends it. Use what’s at your disposal - that’s what he’s learned. (He used to play the innocent card, too, until years of GC junior spec ops training thwarted that image.)

 

Mingi carefully hands fuel cells down to Wooyoung and San. They swipe as many as they can fit in their pockets without hindering their ability to bolt at a second’s notice. When they’ve managed to stuff an amount Yunho calls “excessive” into their pockets, he slowly lowers himself so Mingi can slide off.

 

Phase one, complete.

 

“Now where to?” Jongho asks. The four of them exchange confused looks. 

 

Wooyoung is technically in charge given his first-mate rank. Sure, the ship hierarchy is mostly arbitrary, but if nobody else is gonna come forward, Woo figures he ought to be the one. Though his knowledge of the warship - a Mamba, maybe? Anaconda? Rattler- No, it’s definitely not that. It’s got some snake name, that he remembers. What he remembers more than that is the general layout of these things and the workings of the skeletal tech. That puts him ahead of the others in terms of usefulness at the moment. So, he runs with it.

 

“We need to find a PC that’s linked with the ship’s network,” Wooyoung tells the others. “That’s where we can find out where the others are. Get Yeo, get the captain and get out.”

 

“Right.” “Okay.” “Mhm.” The others nod in response.

 

“Typically there’s like, a main hub in the center of the ship. Everything else branches off- sorta like the nervous system. The hangars ought to be in one of the lower levels, off to the far southside. The others… Will be somewhere else. Probably spread out far apart. Our biggest challenge is gonna be going undetected. Plus, who knows how long it’ll be before they realize their guards aren’t back at their posts.”

 

Once again, the others nod. There’s no protest to the first-mate taking charge - not even from the cold siren.

 

“Let’s move together quietly. I’ll take the lead,” Wooyoung says, heading out the door they came in. The others follow at his heels. 

 

Worry, doubt, dread and regret all toil in Wooyoung’s guts, but he bottles them up. The others are depending on him now.

 

Get Yeosang. Get the captain. Get the hell out.

 

That’s all he needs to worry about right now.

 

He repeats the mantra over and over in his head.

 

* * *

 

Every corner they turn is another stake of anxiety driven into Hongjoong’s chest. He keeps thinking: this, this will be the one, this is where we run into people who want us dead. Or alive, depending on how much they feel like collecting.

 

The halls are shockingly deserted, and though they’ve gone down corridor after corridor, the unlikely team still hasn’t left the cell block. Seonghwa assures him that they’ll find the mouth of the maze eventually. Hongjoong bristles at the thought. He doesn’t have time for eventually. Of course, he doesn’t say it. The two speak only when entirely necessary, and it hasn’t been essential for what feels like an hour.

 

Hongjoong presses himself against the wall behind him, taking hesitant peeks around the corner. He doesn’t see anyone nor does he hear anyone. That’s another thing about this place, he’s realized: everything echoes a lot. If they slip up and make too much noise, they’re fucked. Fortunately, nobody seems to be patrolling the cell blocks. Hongjoong imagines that they don’t keep lots of prisoners. Part of him wonders if the warship is actually too big for its swashbuckling residents.

 

The captain quirks a brow on his second check around the corner. It looks… different. Shorter. And he sees something in the distance.

 

“Is that one of those… Control hubs?” He whispers, breaking the silence. Seonghwa leans over to follow the captain’s gaze and nods.

 

“That should be it,” He breathes out, sounding relieved. 

 

Not far down the corner, there appears to be an open area of sorts. There’s some consoles arranged in a circle, facing outward, and in the middle of them a few chairs. They’re totally unmanned - thank god. One would think that with prisoners being kept, _someone_ would be tending to them. Then it occurs to Joong that the guys who’re supposed to be at the station are probably the ones snoozing in their cell. 

 

“No sign of anyone,” Hongjoong responds. With that, he edges around the corner along the near wall toward the hub. Seonghwa doesn’t bother hugging the sides of the corridor and strides casually past Joong, down the middle of the hall. The captain bites his tongue and rolls his eyes instead.

 

Seonghwa wordlessly stands at one of the PCs and begins tapping away before Hongjoong even reaches the console hub. His impression from the distance had been right. Just a few chairs and consoles. Shooting off of the open hub are three more corridors, two of which appear to have cells further down and one, wider one. Joong figures that’s the one that leads straight into the main center thoroughfare. Hopefully, they won’t have to take that route. 

 

The captain’s gaze flits over to the diligently typing PO. He taps away, scanning the projected screen wordlessly. 

 

Initially, Hongjoong is content to let him be. But, as time passes, he quickly grows impatient and awkwardly slinks over to the other’s vicinity. Making sure not to stand too close, he glances over the other’s shoulder.

 

“What’s all this? Can- Can you get in?”

 

“Just… Going in through the terminal. Looks like they kept the general framework which favors us. Good news is this person-” He brandishes the card he’d swiped earlier, “-has decently high clearance. It took the card ID easy. Guess they’re not used to intruders.”

 

“Hm,” Joong grunts in response. He doesn’t really care about the elaboration, but he’s not about to prod the other and risk provocation.

 

“Thing is the server is… A mess. A lot of shit nested in shit stored in _shit_ ,” Seonghwa hisses, typing furiously. “Seriously, this is so unorganized I-” He clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head. “There ought to be a schematic somewhere, though. One would think it’s in local storage, but- ah!” His face lights up with realization, and he presses the RETURN key.

 

Suddenly, a hologram of the entire ship brojects above the screen. Hongjoong gasps. Even scaled down to a fraction of the size, the thing looks impressive. And they’re in that? The platinum blond taps something on the projected HUD, and a little beacon of light flickers on the hologram.

 

“That’s where we are,” He points to the orange light. The Anaconda is sort of shaped like a wedge - long, with a wide stern that tapers into a narrow bow. The little beacon indicating their location places them toward the stern, on the west side.

 

“Now, let me check recent activity logs…” Seonghwa taps away again until another little projection crops up with a list of timed logs. Each timestamp is accompanied with codes and shorthand labels Hongjoong can’t comprehend. To make matters more baffling, the list updates in realtime. So it’s linked to the rest of the ship, the captain notes. He looks to the other for guidance.

 

“The codes and labels ought to correspond to certain rooms,” The PO says. “Storage closets, living quarters… As you can see there’s a few label repetitions, and the codes are what vary, so… Let me just narrow the parameters to the approximate time of our imprisonment.”

 

Hongjoong hopes the other is enjoying his one-sided exposition, because he honestly doesn’t care. As fascinating as codes, labels, and GC warship software is, he’s much more interested in learning the whereabouts of his crew.

 

After a few moments, more beacons illuminate on the holographic schematic. Hongjoong’s brows raise, and he leans forward. Three little beacons blink in other parts of the ship.

 

“Now what are these?” He asks. Finally, he thinks, something relevant.

 

“I figured out the label for cells and looked up the logs of passage within the timeframe.”

 

Honestly, he could’ve used way simpler language, but Hongjoong bites his tongue again. Let the man be a pedant, he tells himself.

 

“So, basically, all of these cell doors were passed through around the time of our imprisonment?”

 

Seonghwa nods, “More or less, yes. Of course- Let me see if I can pull up security feeds to confirm…” He taps away a bit more, and a few more screens crop up in front of them. Just as he’d said, they’re security feeds of three cell blocks.

 

Hongjoong gasps.

 

That’s them.

 

His crew. His family. On film just hours ago, getting stuffed into a cell. Joong’s heart dips when he watches footage of Jongho struggling. He winces when he watches a massive neddle get driven into the youngest’s shoulder. On another screen there’s San and Mingi. The siren has some clunky looking apparatus fixed around his face. It looks massively unpleasant, and Joong brushes a hand across his own jaw unconsciously at the sight. Then, there’s them. He cringes as he watches himself, panickedly resisting being shoved into the cell. 

 

“Wait.” “This can’t be right.” The two talk over one another. They exchange dubious glances before Seonghwa takes initiative to speak first.

 

“I- These are all the cells open at the time, but… Yeosang is missing,” Seonghwa bites his lip anxiously, turning his attention to the log screen again.

 

“Yeah. Are you sure you didn’t miss a-” Hongjoong’s thinking halts. Did he just call _Yeosang_ Yeosang? “How do you know his name?” The captain’s brows furrow.

 

“He- I- You- You know their leader loudly announced everyone’s name prior to our imprisonment, right?”

 

“Oh. Right,” Hongjoong nods. How could he possibly forget so quickly? It’d been horrific. He supposes worry had taken the reigns and completely erased the events leading up to how they’d gotten there. All he’s worried about now is getting out. Though suspicion still itches at the back of Joong’s mind, he drops the matter. It really isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

 

“I- I don’t understand,” Seonghwa’s brows furrow. “Unless they’ve labelled other cells differently, but- but I don’t see why.” The stress coming off of him is practically palpable, and Hongjoong’s heartrate hastens just from the proximity.

 

“Can- can you follow him on the security feeds?” Hongjoong posits.

 

“That’s…” The PO sighs. “That’s actually a decent idea.”

 

Wow. “Actually a decent idea”. That maybe the most complimentary thing Hongjoong’s ever heard pass the other’s lips. His shock would blow him off his feet if it wasn’t for the worry keeping them rooted to the ground.

 

Seonghwa obliges the proposition and pulls up feed of the hangar - the last time all of ATEEZ were all in one place. A frown pulls down the edges of Hongjoong’s lips as he watches. It’s fairly familiar. The yelling, the riotous shouts, the sacks being thrown over their head. Then, they get dragged up and off. Seonghwa switches the feed to a hallway. The timestamp is just minutes later, and a few guards drag crew down. Yeosang is still among them. As the thugs near the end of the corridor, the one with Yeosang branches off.

 

“There-” Hongjoong points to the footage, “He’s going in a different direction.”

 

Seonghwa nods, switching the feed again. He swaps through a few different cameras until finding the proper one. Yeosang is dragged down a wide corridor. He shifts and shuffles, and though there’s no sound, Hongjoong imagines he’s saying something. 

 

Yeo’s attendant then meets with another couple of thugs, one of whom seems to be operating some sort of hovercart?  No, Hongjoong thinks. It’s a metal slab, almost like a work surface. Yeosang has a few ones like that on the ship. Smaller, of course. Not like this one. This thing’s massive, hell, it could fit Yeosang.

 

Suddenly, Yeo’s guard throws him onto the slab, and a struggle ensues. Hongjoong gasps, and concern knocks roughly at his heart. They wrestle the cyborg onto the slab and rip off his cover. Instantaneously, binds close over his body. Yeosang’s eyes shift around, but a gas mask is slapped onto his face. His eyes fall shut, and his body goes limp in seconds.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hongjoong curses. The two who’d brought the hovering work surface walk off in the opposite direction - from where they’d come, probably. “Follow them, follow them-” Hongjoong urges.

 

Seonghwa nods, typing more. They lose Yeosang for a couple of seconds before the PO finds the proper feed again. He’s guided down a winding labyrinth of corridors, up a level and down a few more. They lose him a few more times until, finally, his two escorts stop in front of a wide door. It slides open, revealing nothing but ominous darkness into which all three on the feed disappear.

 

“The fuck is that-?! Go- Go there,” Hongjoong demands.

 

“I’m- I’m going,” Seonghwa bristles but complies nonetheless. He types furiously until the feed changes.

 

Joong’s eyes blow wide open when he sees the video coming in. Just around the edges, he makes out the faint light coming in through the open door. A few shadows shift, too. That’s about it, though. Occupying the majority of the screen a crudely scribbled sign placed in front of the camera:

 

“YOU THOUGHT.”

 

“Son of a bitch,” Hongjoong groans, slamming his hands on the console. 

 

“Shh!” The PO hushes crossedly. “Look- What’s important is that we got the location, see?” He gestures to the schematic which now has an additional beacon. 

 

Hongjoong bites his lip nervously and nods. Though he’ll never admit it, the guy’s right. At this point, the only way to know what’s going on is to get there. Fast. He doesn’t want to know why the hell they pulled Yeosang aside. Obviously, it can’t be good.

 

Joong nods to the scale hologram of the ship, “You think you can memorize this?”

 

Seonghwa scrunches his nose indignantly at the captain, “Wh-? What do you think? This ship is massive. It’s not your little Rattlesnake.” 

 

“Right. Okay. F-Fine, um…” Hongjoong searches around the console frantically. He pulls out chairs and feels around on top of the PCs for something, anything helpful. Miraculously, he spots a small set of drawers at the far side of the console, and he tears each one open. Throwing out miscellaneous papers, batteries, parts and other strange objects, he finally finds what he needs: a marker.

 

“Give me your wrist,” The captain commands.

 

“Excuse me?” Seonghwa asks incredulously.

 

“Wrist. Now. C’mon,” Joong motions toward the other’s arm.

 

“I- Urgh,” The other grumbles but complies without further argument. God, they’re working so well together, it’s incredible.

 

Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate to start scrawling a map of sorts on the other’s forearm.

 

“Wh-What the hell are you doing?!”

 

“Drawing us a map, idiot. It’s easier on another person, so shut up and let me draw.”

 

“Are you serious?!”

  
“Do you have a better idea?”

 

“If you told me, I could’ve drawn on yours,” He says through gritted teeth.

 

“It’ll wash off,” Hongjoong opts not to add “-you baby” though he really wants to.

 

_“Clank… … … … cl… ank…”_

 

“Do you hear that?” Seonghwa whispers, anxiously. 

 

“Stop squirming,” Joong groans. “Hear what?”

 

 _“Cl… a… n… k… clank… clank-clank…”_ “S… h… e… if…”

 

“Sshh- shh- shh,” Seonghwa holds his free hand up and studies the area. Joong pauses for a second to do the same. There’s nobody around.

 

“Settle down,” Hongjoong replies. “I’m almost done, then you can-”

 

“...ly… -hose idi… -a game…” _“Clank… … … clank. Clank-thud…”_

 

Oh, shit.

 

He does hear that.

 

“Where is that coming from?” The captain asks, head whipping around. The noise distant and echoey, bouncing down some far corridor into the hub. There’s three options (the one they came from is deserted - they know that). The question is, which one? The two go mute, straining their ears to hear more. 

 

_“Clank… … thud… … … clank-thud… clank-clank thud-thud… thud…”_

 

“-hen are we gonna…? I mean what is he…” “Iunno…? -e…”

 

“Shit,” Hongjoong blurts out. He clamps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide.

 

Loud and clear, from down one of the halls, a voice rings: “Did you hear something?”

 

Seonghwa gives Hongjoong a look of wide-eyed anger for the outburst. The sounds get closer.

 

 _“Thud-thud…”_ “Sounds like… -around…” “-oles…” _“Thud. Thud. Thud-thud…”_ Foosteps on metal and voice ricochet down the metal hallways. Hongjoong gestures wildly to the projected screen, mouthing out: ‘Turn it off!’. Seonghwa - when he finally interprets the gesture - does just that, and the two check each corridor once again.

 

Sounds trickle into their ears after bouncing off of wall after wall. It’s so damn echoey it’s hard to tell exactly where they’re coming from.

 

Fuck.

 

Hongjoong’s mind whirs as he attempts to piece it together. Are they coming from the one on the left? Or the right? The center?

 

Without prompting or warning, Seonghwa strides down the one to the far left. It seems unlikely they’d come from there. Probably. Maybe? Hongjoong has no idea, but he’s not keen on being alone or left behind. So, he follows. The two rush down the corridor, both checking over their shoulders frequently as they scarcely repress the inclination to jog. However, the sounds don’t get any quieter. 

 

No, Joong realizes as they’re about halfway down the hall.

 

They’re closer.

 

Way closer.

 

Like, two bodies side by side turning the corner closer.

 

“-dunno. It’s not like them to skip dinner,” One of the pair says.

 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa freeze. They both exchange expressions of sheer terror and turn on their heels as fast as they can. 

 

“Maybe they’re having a sloppy makeout sesh in one of the cells,” Thug number two snarks. Joong dares to look over his shoulder; he sees the two walk at a lackadaisical pace. They’re more focused on one another than the hall in front of them. Thank God.

 

Hongjoong’s heart hammers against his chest, and he’s terrified it’ll make enough noise to rouse the pair. He and the PO close the distance toward the control hub fast. All they have to do is dart into the nearest offshooting hall, and they’re in the clear (at least in the immediate future).

 

“Wh- Hey!” A voice bellows behind them.

 

Oh shit.

 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s eyes lock. Between them they express the shared emotion of utter consternation. To think that they’d share anything was such a ridiculous idea just hours ago. Now, they’re in this together.

 

Meaning: now, they’re fucked.

 

“Hey-! You two-!” The gangster shouts again. “Hold up- Is that a… Mullet…? No- It can’t be-”

 

What? What’s wrong with a mullet? A warship full of gangsters and not one has a mullet? 

 

Joong nonverbally asks the PO a question, and the platinum blond nods in response. Screw subtlety, they make a break for it.

 

“Fuck, they’re running- Hey!” Thug number two calls after them. 

 

Hongjoong hears the sound of pounding footsteps - they’re running. He doesn’t dare look back. He just runs in the opposite direction. Their pursuers bark a few more demands, and their boots patter loudly down the long corridors.

 

The captain and PO bound toward the control hub, stumbling as they try to take the corner as quick as possible.

 

“How the fuck did you get out?!” “We’ve got a situation on level six, cell block B…”

 

Uh-oh.

 

That sounds like a call for reinforcements.

 

Hongjoong - in spite of what he’d told himself minutes earlier - casts a glance over his shoulder again.

  
Shit. 

 

They’re close.

 

Between the running and the general disquietude of the situation, his heart writhes in agony. He and Seonghwa blindly run down another corridor, but their pursuers are fast approaching. How are these fuckers so fast. Hongjoong wants to look for a solution, to think of a plan, but he can’t. His mind is utterly and completely full. All he sees is the end of the impossibly long corridor stretching out in front of him like a suffocating tunnel. There are two ways to go: toward their jailors or away. But that’s hardly sustainable.

 

_“Zzzzt-!!”_

 

Energy slices air, and a bolt of light races between Seonghwa and Hongjoong. 

 

If he wasn’t panicked before, now he definitely is. 

 

“Shit,” Hongjoong hisses, checking over his shoulder again like some masochist. They’re just meters away, brandishing laser pistols. 

 

“Around the corner,” Seonghwa whispers windedly. “We’ll lose them.” 

 

Joong trains his vision ahead of them. THey are coming up on a corner, but how? How are they going to lose them? He’s far too occupied to actually pose the query and just runs instead.

 

Seonghwa’s first around the corner, and Hongjoong quickly follows, nearly faceplanting in the process. His boots squeak against the shiny floor as he scrambles to catch himself. Before he can even properly right himself, his body gets yanked. Joong can’t even think let alone resist the sudden force. In an instant, he finds himself roughly colliding with… Well, with something. There’s a noise, and then darkness.

 

Hongjoong’s mind is still around the corner, trying to catch up with his body. He hears things happening outside the threshold of… Of wherever, but has no idea what those things are or where he is. He opens his mouth to speak, but a hand swiftly closes over it.

 

“M-mMMf-” The captain reflexively struggles. Who the hell is stifling him? And why? And what is this room that’s so dark? And why can’t he move? All these questions climb up his throat willing to burst out through his covered lips. 

 

“Be quiet,” A voice urges hushedly. Not just a voice. His voice. Seonghwa’s voice.

 

Despite everything, Hongjoong feels some of the tension leave his body, and his shoulders relax. It’s just Seonghwa. Petty Officer Prettyboy. The devil he knows. The one who, oddly enough, is actually on his side for the interim. With the initial alarm subsiding, Hongjoong can actually properly assess the situation.

 

The pair of them are… Somewhere. Somewhere dark. The only source of light is that of the hallway filtering in through the crack beneath the door. Just outside said door, footsteps rumble past along with muffled rambling. Fuck. That’s them. The hazy shadows darkening the crack’s light shift about restlessly. Hongjoong can’t understand what they’re saying, but their tone indicates confusion. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. He’s not certain, and he sure as hell can’t open his mouth to ask.

 

Their temporary hideaway is cramped. Very cramped. Hongjoong attempts to shuffle around and stretch, but he’s met with resistance no matter what way he moves. He feels around, trying to get a grasp his surroundings. Leaning even a little bit forward means pressing his nose against the cool metal of the door. To his right, there’s things. Shelves, they feel like. To his left, the same. Behind him… That’s. Not a shelf.

 

The captain’s eyes blow wide open, and his heart stops. He doesn’t want to know where the fuck he just grabbed PO Park. The unforeseen silver lining of being pursued is that the fucker can’t gripe about the accidental grope at least. Still, it doesn’t make the slip up any less devastating for Hongjoong, who feels like he wants to jump out the airlock. He attempts to wiggle so he’s not plastered against the other, but there’s nowhere to go. They must’ve ended up in a closet or something. Fuck’s sake. As if his luck wasn’t shitty enough.

 

“W-Would you stop that?!” Seonghwa murmurs indignantly.

 

“Shh!” It’s Hongjoong’s turn to scold the other. He continues his feeble effort to not be sandwiched against perhaps one of the most repugnant sentient beings in the universe. Unfortunately, it does little. He still feels the discomfort of contact, the other’s warmth against him. Except, now, he’s managed to somehow wedge himself in such a way that the shelves to his left are digging into his side, and somehow things on the shelf behind him got moved around and are also prodding into his backside. Because _that_ needed to be added to his discomfort.

 

More footsteps pass in front of the closet door, and suddenly all thoughts of rearranging disappear. Hongjoong watches the shadows darken their doorway once more. The fuckers are determined. Just when a minute or two pass where they seem to be gone, they come back again. Hongjoong takes those brief spells of nothingness to attempt to be less uncomfortable; but, after rotation number three of footsteps, he’s given up, resigned to having something digging into his back and his side.

 

After rotation four of bumbling, confused guards, Hongjoong breaks the silence, “Can you, like, move?”

 

“Move where?” Seonghwa replies strainedly. He sounds equally as unsatisfied with their current space predicament.

 

“I dunno- anywhere,” Hongjoong tries shimmying again but just ends up awkwardly wedged between the door and the man behind him. Fan-fucking-tastic.

 

“Would you- Would you stop moving?”

 

“If you could just- just to the side- Something’s digging into- like- my thigh.”

 

“Fucking stop, would you?!” Seonghwa squeaks out.

 

That’s… Weird. Petty Officer Prick doesn’t squeak anything. He demands contemptuously or snarks condescendingly. But… Squeak? Why the hell would he squeak unless Hongjoong accidentally hit something-

 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong breathes out, his cheeks setting aflame.

 

“What?”

 

“ _Seonghwa_.”

 

“What?”

 

“My- My back-”

 

“Wh-”

 

“What’s digging into my back?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“It’s right- Right at my low back-”

 

“What- My _gun_?”

 

Right.

 

Gun.

 

The gun.

 

That he stole. That they both stole. They both have guns. 

 

Guns.

 

The gun. 

 

 G. U. N.

 

The silence apparently speaks volumes, and Seonghwa groans.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me you seriously thought-”

 

“Shut up, I hear them coming again.”

 

It’s a lie, but Hongjoong would’ve given anything to make sure PO Park did not finish that thought. Figures, he thinks to himself. It felt way too big to be anything otherwise.

 

Eventually, they do come again. The collection of baffled shadows walking by the door grows, and with it so does Hongjoong’s anxiety. 

 

“They’ll have to give up eventually, right?” Hongjoong asks quietly.

 

Seongwha sighs, and the air tickling Joong’s ear sends a shiver down his spine - like the sound of a bug buzzing right by his ear would.

 

“We’ll have to wait it out,” The PO replies. He sounds stiff. Unhappy.

 

Hongjoong lightly bumps his head against the door that is entirely too close in front of him. Just his fucking luck. Their spacious, open cell almost seems like a sanctuary in comparison to their cramped quarters. 

 

That’s it, though.

 

That’s all he’s got.

 

A tiny closet and the company of the person he can confidently say he hates the most.

 

Great.

 

* * *

 

Yeosang’s mind teems with unproductive thoughts. They buzz around restlessly, filling his head with loud noise. All of them are geared toward one thought: escape. But how? The little morsels of ideas combat with one another and clash noisily. Does he attempt to make an emotional appeal with the allegedly smitten, enigmatic Kevin? And how? Sobbing? Begging? Cozying up and offering things he has zero intention of giving? Or does he try to wrest his free limbs away and fight? Does he snap at those little hands the second they venture to close to his mouth? Kevin - in spite of his many quirks and instability - appears to favor logic and intellect. What opportunities lie there? 

 

He’d fallen asleep for maybe two hours, give or take. If the other had done or said anything to him during his unconscious hours, he had no idea. That thought terrifies him. He doesn’t trust the deranged hybrid one bit. He doesn’t feel any new pains or notice any new scars - observations that keep him from the brink of insanity.

 

Occasionally, the hybrid’s voice spikes in volume, and his words drift up to Yeosang’s ears. He mostly rambles. Tells himself lame jokes and blathers about the cyborg’s synthetic nerve network or his lightweight limb shells.

 

“Done!” Kevin chirps from below.

 

Yeosang’s eyes widen. Whatever remnant grog or drowsiness he’d had dissipates with immediacy. Done with _what_?

 

The harrowing clangs and thuds of shuffling metal sound out across the lab. Yeo steels himself in preparation for whatever eerie encounter he’s due for next. Will it be another close inspection? More rambling about dates they should go on? Or something far more sinister? 

 

He’s still waiting for the veil of amiability to get thrown away. Perhaps it’s vehement rejection that’ll do it, Yeo infers. Unlike most of his little theories, this is not one he wishes to test. Playing nice with the guy’s kept him from getting taken apart further which is about as much as he can ask for.

 

All too soon, Kevin’s hovering over Yeosang, hanging by his fluffy, ringed tail. The hybrid holds his face in his hands, wearing a dopey little grin.

 

“D’you nap well, boyfriend?” The hybrid asks.

 

Yeosang just grimaces.

 

“Aw, boyfriend, I’m sorry,” Kevin makes a pouty face, “I know the slab’s not very comfy. I’ll make up for it by getting you hella nice sheets when I’m done. Like- Seven-hundred thread count.”

 

“Did… You need something?” Yeosang hesitantly asks. Anything to hasten the process, really. Last time he engaged the other, it didn’t go horribly.

 

“Actually, I think you need something,” Kevin beams, snapping. In response to the sound cue, a hovering workslab floats into view like before. 

 

His legs.

 

Yeosang gulps nervously. He’s not seriously going to give them back… Is he? No doubt he did something fucked up during his little inspection. Yeo’s not sure he wants them back.

 

“Sorry, I’m still working on your arm. The- The finger work is just so-” He makes a fiddley gesture with his hands, “-so delicate. I seriously cannot believe you just did it yourself. Like, when I saw the synthetic muscle structure-” He makes large gesture with his hands, like something blowing up, “ _-tenting_.” Gross. 

 

“But these beauts-” He beckons the floating slabs closer with a hand motion. Yeo - in spite of himself - quirks a brow in interest. Motion detection used for command prompts. It seems so stupidly obvious, he can’t believe hadn’t employed something similar. All his stuff is voice. “-these can go back on. Of course, there’s, uh, one little hangup about that…” Kevin wrings his hands.

 

Hangup?

 

Yeosang hates the sound of that. He asks with wide, dread-filled eyes, and Kevin elaborates:

 

“I, uh, I dunno how you, um, how to put ‘em back on.”

 

“Oh,” Yeosang unintentionally heaves a sigh of relief. He’s still wary of the other’s “inspection”, but at least the other hasn’t outright destroyed them. Probably. The cyborg narrows his eyes at the hybrid, contemplating the man in front of him momentarily.

 

It could all be a ruse.

 

The madness, the instability, the hyperactivity in contrast with the stark, sudden freezing up. It’d serve well to unnerve Yeosang all while lulling him into a sort of false sense of security. What if the hybrid’s more canny than that? What if he really just wants to needle Yeosang for all of his modification secrets? Yeosang by default likes to share knowledge. It’s how they got by in BH - they helped one another. But does Kevin really need his help? Or is he just bluffing?

 

“Just hold the leg up to the socket,” Yeosang replies gruffly. It’s true, doing just that will make the synthesized nerve network automatically line up. It’ll function alright - though feeling won’t be restored. That he can sort out later, though. As of right now, he needs functioning legs.

 

“Wh- Damn, really?” Kevin asks in disbelief. He beams, thrilled at the prospect. Maybe he’s just a mad scientist after all. 

 

Yeosang refuses to take the risk of spilling his secrets, though, and watches carefully as the other lines up the augment to its appropriate socket. Clusters of nanowires flex and coil, springing toward the open socket held close enough. The tech does the rest of the work automatically, locking mechanisms quickly rotating to match up, clicking into place and pulling the limb flush until it’s basically seamless. Yeosang can’t feel it, but he’s assured that the limb is at least physically secured.

 

“Wh- Holy shit! That was amazing!” Kevin shouts, throwing his hands up. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod- it just- you just- without any prior software prompting or-” He leans in, gawking at the seam of flesh and machine a little too closely. “What? What?! My mind is blown, I- oh my god and you- wait-” His voice lowers. “Can you use it?”

 

Yeosang bites his lip nervously as he tests the leg. It feels strange, still not quite apart of himself without the added feature of physical sensation. Though he can’t feel through it, he can feel it there. The limb is nice and weighty beneath his thigh. He wiggles his toes experimentally, and in spite of not feeling them, the little appendages comply.

 

“Try bending your knee,” Kevin says.

 

Yeo does it - not because the other asked, but because he was gonna do it anyways. He starts gingerly, just barely flexing the thing before transitioning into a broader range of motion. All too conscious of how little he’s wearing, Yeo keeps his movements to bare minimum. Walking on it will feel strange. He won’t be able to recalibrate the nerve system until he’s back on ATEEZ.

 

If he gets back on ATEEZ.

 

No, the cyborg tells himself. He perishes the thought, focusing more on the tiny victory he’d just won. 

 

He got part of himself back, and another one is already being lined up by the lunatic keeping him imprisoned. A victory as fantastic as it is microscopic. The other leg quickly locks into place, and Yeosang tests it out similarly with small movements.

 

Just having his legs back lifts an immense pressure off his back. He almost grins from the giddiness dancing around in his heart.

 

“Wow…” Kevin gasps.

 

And there goes the giddiness.

 

The hybrid swoons, “They’re so pretty, boyfriend,” He rests a cheek heavily in his hand as he dangles by his tail. “You’re so cute…” Suddenly, his face falls, and so does his tone. It flattens out into something strange and sober.

 

His eyes do that thing again, the thing where all the mirth is sucked out of them, replaced with nothing but flat black. Like the void of space.

 

Yeosang’s nerves spike, and though they unsettle them, he looks into those eyes. He wonders if, maybe this time, he can figure out what lurks beneath. However, all that looks back at the cyborg is black. It’s not so much an abyss. Likening them to an abyss implies some sort of depth. Kevin’s eyes present nothing of the sort. They appear almost flat. As if nothing had ever occupied the space beneath his pupils in the first place.

 

 _“Briing-! Briing-!”_ A shrill noise trills out from the console below, and like that, the hybrid jerks awake yet again. Just like that, it’s gone, that… Thing. Whatever it can be called. A daze, perhaps? Maybe he had just fallen asleep again, but Yeosang’s seriously starting to wonder if that’s it. He genuinely can’t tell.

 

“Oh-! Sorry, boyfriend. I know it’s _rude_ to answer the phone with company,” Kevin says sheepishly. A little screen floats up from below, toward its master. Kevin taps the bouncing phone icon on the projection, and a video feed fills the screen.

 

“Fucking- Finally. What the fuck, you little shit?!” An indignant person on screen huffs angrily. Yeosang swears he recognizes the white-blond curls and accent. Could it be the boss by chance?

 

“Wow- Okay- Language, Papa,” Kevin holds his hands up defensively, sitting more upright. (It surprises Yeosang how much strength that slender tail has. It both freaks him out and stokes his curiosity dangerously.)

 

“Don’t fucking language me you little cunt-”

 

“Pops, can you put Daddy on?” Kevin groans.

 

The person on screen fusses with another off screen,“Wh- ‘Yeon, you hear this shit? You hear this shit-” “Oh just let me talk to him. Seriously, you should stop trying.” “Oh rack off. You oughta teach that boy some manners.” “You realize he’s not _actually_ my son, right?” “Just- Just deal with him-” The sound of staticy shuffling fills the room momentarily, and another person is on screen. A brunette.

 

Wait. The brunette. Yeosang recognizes this one, he knows he does.

 

“Sup, Daddy?” Kevin waves affably to the new person on screen. Daddy, apparently? Yeosang’s starting to wonder if the guy gives everyone annoying nicknames.

 

“Kevin, why haven’t you answered any of your prior messages? And calls?”

 

“Got you on mute. Can’t you see?” He gestures to Yeosang, waving at the tablet so it backs up a bit. “I’ve got company.”

 

Yeosang winces at the sight of himself. Even the distant, fuzzy image in the corner of the screen provides a gross reminder as to how decrepit he currently is. His eyes are puffy and red, tears dried on his face. His hair is mussed, and, oh, of course: he’s still down a limb. 

 

“Yeah, well, so do we,” The one called “Daddy” sighs exasperatedly. “We think there’s been a breakout.”

 

“What? No way,” Kevin’s sunny demeanour falters. He strokes his chin in thought, “How?”

 

“We don’t know, but none of our detail has checked in. It’s been hours.”

 

“What? Okay, let’s- let’s backtrack here. You used the drug on the hulking strong kid, right?”

 

“Wh- I wasn’t there, Kevin.”

 

Hulking strong kid? That piques Yeosang’s interest immediately. THat _has_ to be Jongho. He sits up slightly, tilting his head. Though the motion is mostly arbitrary, it makes him feel like he can hear better. 

 

What happened with Jongho?

 

Yeo needs to know. He prays he’s alright, along with all the others. Even Seonghwa.

 

“Well, you instructed their escorts, did you not?”

 

“Okay. Well, yes-”

 

“Okay, well did you tell them to inject the tranq?”

 

‘Daddy’ nods, “Of course.”

 

“And, um, the siren. He was gagged, right?”

 

“Yup. We used the good gag, too.”

 

“Wait- The good gag? Which good gag?”

 

“Y’know, the good gag?”

 

“Like the _good_ good gag, or the okay good gag?”

 

Daddy’s brows furrow, “I wasn’t aware we had a tiering system for our gags.”

 

“Uh, _duh_ ,” Kevin says as if it’s the most normal, logical thing in the world to have. Yeosang really does not want to think about the implications of that.

 

“Well, um, it was a device from one of the Stray Kids. Changmin? Changbin?”

 

“Oh, fuck, you used Changbin’s good gag?”

 

“I was assured it would be most effective. It responds to vibrations in the throat-”

 

“Damn so he lent out his really good gag. ‘Kay so that precaution is covered… The others are just normies and- well, of course there’s this cutie right here,” Kevin gushes.

 

“Well, apparently the ‘normies’ are a threat. We recently got word that two of them got out.”

 

Got out?

 

 _Two_ got out?

 

Yeosang’s heart soars with elation. Fuck, yes. Finally, some good fucking news. Something hopeful. If two escaped that means they’re okay, and maybe, just maybe, they can find him. He nearly smiles, but he doesn’t want to blow his cover or draw any extra attention.

 

“Oh… Shit,” Kevin breathes out, wringing a hand through his hair. 

 

“Yeah. Glad to see your situation is under control. All the calls you’d ignored were to warn you, though.”

 

“Right. Y’know, we could use th-”

 

“No, we are not going to activate the self-destruct sequence you programmed.”

 

“Wh- Come on.”

 

Daddy doesn’t so much as roll his eyes; the man must be very used to the hybrid’s antics,“Stay on high alert, okay Kev? We’re gonna start rolling out searches, make sure nobody else got cute with the security detail. I just want you to… Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

 

“Got it!” The hybrid flashes a thumbs up.

 

“Oh- And don’t forget to eat dinner.”

 

“Right!”

 

“Over and out.”

 

“Bye-bye~” Kevin singsongs before the line goes dead. The hybrid turns his attention back to Yeosang. He simply studies the cyborg for a minute in silence (something rare for him). Yeo writhes a bit beneath the other’s discernment. What does he want?

 

Unsurprisingly, Kevin doesn’t explain. Why would he do that? That’d be too easy, too normal and forthright. No. Instead he just lets out a little laugh and smirks - like he knows something. 

 

“Back to work, then. No rest for the wicked and all that,” The hybrid mutters - apparently entirely unbothered by the breakout.

 

Yeosang sighs when the other climbs back down to his perch below. 

  
Two got out.

 

Two of them got out.

 

He replays those words in his head over and over again.

  
Two got out.

  
_Two got out._

 

Holding onto the sliver of hope he’d gotten from those words, he prays that soon, that two will become three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // Trapped In A Closet (Chapter 1)


	5. Chapter 5

One would think that, with everything going on, Hongjoong would be able to forget about the body slotted against his. But he can’t. The sensation persists, a constant botheration dragging down his already dipping sanity. He tries to stay afloat, think of the plan, listen for passers by. It’s disturbing, really, the way he feels the other’s chest rise with every breath, the constant tickle of said breath, the accidental brushes of the other’s hand against his hip. Not to mention the guy’s fat gun jabbing into his low back. What kind of a moron shoves a gun down their trousers, anyways? That’s just asking to get your dick shot off. Idiot.

 

The captain strains his concentration, listening for thugs outside the door. Their rotations seem to have decreased. It’s been awhile. Too fucking long, in Hongjoong’s opinion. In more technical terms, he’d guess close to half an hour. Half an hour cooped up in a closet with Petty Officer Prettyboy. It’s been close to five minutes since he’d heard a peep, and he’s starting to get antsy. The problem is, Joong gets wiggly when he gets antsy, but moving in their current dwellings just intensifies the awfulness of the situation tenfold.

 

“I think we’ve got an opening,” Hongjoong whispers. “Uh- Where’s the, uh, switch for the door.” He starts groping the area in front of him. His guts nearly jump out his mouth when the other’s  hand lands on top of his. The PO, uncaring, feels around until he hits a switch.

 

_ “Click.” _

 

A light turns on. 

  
That is not what Hongjoong wanted. As a matter of fact, that’s the opposite of what Hongjoong wanted (and needed). The one saving grace of their entire entrapment was the fact that at least he didn’t need to see the other. Now he stands there, sandwiched between a man and a door, blinking in blinding light.

 

“Well, I suppose that’ll help,” The other mutters. Hongjoong huffs indignantly and searches the (now illuminated) store closet for its exit switch. He notices his hand on the wall to the right of the door, and Seonghwa’s next to it. It’s a strange thing to make note of, but he can’t stop the thought before it bubbles up in his nerve-wrecked brain. Seonghwa’s hand looks big next to his, fanned out and planted against the wall.

 

The captain wonders if he’s actually gone brain dead at that point. For no other reason would all of his priorities be swept aside for such a stupid observation. He shunts the little inkling away, searching for a doorswitch instead. The only other option is an input pad near the light switch, and Hongjoong practically slams his hand against the thing.

 

He stumbles forward as the door slides upon unceremoniously. Without word or warning, a hand shoots out to catch him. When the PO’s done playing white knight, Joong yanks his arm away and glares at the other. 

 

“So,” Hongjoong coughs. “Um- Third hallway?” He gestures toward the control hub.

 

“Hm?”

 

“They came from the far left one, and we got chased down the middle. Third one’s gotta work, right?”

 

“As long as there’s a lift. Nearest crew member is…” He glances at the scrawl on his forearm, “At least one level down. I think.”

 

“Right, right, right,” Hongjoong squints at the ramshackle rendering he’d scratched across the other’s arm frantically. He lauds himself a bit - it’s actually legible. Well, to him. Closest to their current area is Yeosang. He’s also probably in the scariest situation, judging by the footage. The others had been thrown into cells, but him? He’s… Somewhere. With someone. On a slab. “We gotta get to him first. Yeosang…”

 

“He’s the only one not in a cell,” Seonghwa frowns. “We won’t know what we’re getting into.

 

Joong worries at his lip anxiously, “No, we won’t, but…”

 

“We have to,” Seonghwa finishes the thought. 

 

Hongjoong can’t help himself. He looks up at the other with wide-eyed surprise. No time, he reminds himself. No time.

 

“Right- Um, so it’s down one level. We’ll have to find a lift which is represented by this mark here-” He points to a little down arrow on the other’s arm, “-and we are here, so… Okay, if we go down this way, hang a right, then a left and make a break for it, then down the lift and… Yeah. That should do it.”

 

“I… Can’t believe you understand this,” The PO chuckles wryly.

 

Hongjoong ignores the dig at his rushed drawing and heads off in the direction they need to go. They’ve done all the discussion necessary. Now it’s time to move. He doesn’t check to see if the other’s following, but he hears footsteps. 

 

The two resume their sneaking around, clinging to walls and what few shadows they could find in the brightly lit corridors. There’s lots of long and straight hallways and almost nowhere to hide. The second anyone turns a corner, they’re likely screwed. At the very least, they’re spotted which means more targeted pursuit following. 

 

“You still have your pistol at the ready, right?” Seonghwa asks hushedly as the two creep down a long hall.

 

“Uh,” Hongjoong pats himself down. Back-right pocket. Yup. The little shooter’s still there. “Yeah. Why?”

 

“Good. We run into anyone, we shoot,” Seonghwa says frankly.

 

“I’m sorry, we what?”

 

Seonghwa actually stops, quirking an incredulous brow at the captain, “We shoot. You know, with our guns? Didn’t we agree on this before?”

 

“Yeah, thanks for the explanation,” Joong responds facetiously. “But- Why the hell would we just open fire?”

 

“What do you mean  _ why _ ?” The PO continues sulking forward. “Because we’re massively outnumbered on a giant warship full of gangsters who want to sell you off and probably kill me!”

 

“Oh, so we just- we just shoot?”

 

“Wh- Yes. Yes, we shoot I- How is that not a sound plan to you?”

 

“I don’t like using violence as a default,” Hongjoong purses his lips in displeasure. He’d seen his fair share of unfair brutality, he’s not about to try unleashing it on anyone unless absolutely necessary. (Or: unless their name is Park Seonghwa - everyone has exceptions, of course.)

 

“You don’t like- Do you see the situation we’re in?”

 

“I don’t see why we can’t try evading.”

  
“Fine,” The platinum blond huffs. “Brilliant. That was fun last time, wasn’t it?”

 

The reaction that draws out of Hongjoong is visceral. A horrific muscle memory imprinted itself onto him, and just the insinuation of that closet brings back the sensation of the other pressed up against him. He grimaces at the PO, and in response the PO merely raises his eyebrows as if to say “I told you so”.

 

“Okay, but you’ve got a ballistic fucking gun.”

 

“Well, I won’t shoot to kill.”

 

“Oh, good, you’ll only maim them.”

 

“Please,” Seonghwa rolls his too-blue eyes dramatically, “I’m sure these people have stocks upon stocks of bullet-wound repair kits.”

 

“That doesn’t make it any better. At the end of the day, these are humans we’re shooting at.”

 

“These humans are trying to sell you off. Alive  _ or  _ dead.”

 

“If something happens and you misfire, you there’s a chance you’ll be dead. Or, more importantly, me.”

 

“Hm. What a shame that would be.”

 

“You know what the difference between you and me is?”

 

“There’s not enough time in the universe for me to list all of the differences,” The PO bites back haughtily. Prick.

 

Hongjoong ignores the jab, elaborating, “See- If something happens to me on this ship, I’ve got a crew looking out for me. People have my back. A couple of pretty damn impressive, powerful ones, too. You? I’m all you’ve got.”

 

Seonghwa’s expression of indignation falls, and in spite of everything, Hongjoong feels a pang of guilt. That might’ve stricken a nerve. It’s too late to take back, though. Hongjoong sure as hell isn’t going to apologize to that guy. Ultimately, his goal was to get the other to defer a little to him. Judging by his slightly rattled expression, he’s accomplished that. Good. So what if feelings were hurt in the process? 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The platinum blond asks, his tone deflated. 

 

“I-“ Fuck. Hongjoong really wasn’t prepared for the issue to be pressed. “I mean you ought to be more careful.” It’s vague, just like Hongjoong’s thoughts on the matter. 

 

“So being careful means doing what you say?” The blond challenges. Fuck’s sake. “Or else… What? You’ll turn on me?”

 

“What- No. We had an agreement.”

 

“You went on about how much you don’t trust me. How do you expect me to trust you?”

 

“This is not relevant to our plan whatsoever,” Hongjoong bristles. He’s tired of idle conversation. It almost always ends up somewhere incredibly uncomfortable with the petty officer. “But my word is good.”

 

“Hm,” The PO just grunts in response. 

 

Whatever.

 

Hongjoong is glad that the subject doesn’t get drawn out anymore. Their business-like arrangement is already paper-thin. Even the slightest agitation could be the one that rips it to shreds. No matter how many witticisms or anger-fueled comments bubble up to the top of his head, the captain refuses to give in.

 

The two lapse into quiet which is more than fine by Joong. They tiptoe down corridors, checking around corners warily. Sometimes, Hongjoong gets spooked by the sound of their own footsteps carrying down the hallways. It didn’t seem like that long of a trek on the hologram, but it feels like an odyssey in execution.

 

Seonghwa abruptly stops, and Hongjoong bumps into him carelessly. The captain glowers at the other. He gets a hand in his face in response which really pisses him off. Before he starts cursing the PO out, the blond wordlessly elaborates with a finger to the lips. “Quiet” he says without words.

 

Hongjoong scowls but complies, watching the other listen for something. At first, he doesn’t get it. He hears nothing. The echoes of their shoes on the floor have died down. The only other sound is the hum of electricity. Concentrating on his hearing, Joong tries to pick up whatever the other seems to have gotten.

 

_ “Thud… Thud… Thud…”  _ It’s far away and faint. Shit.

 

The two exchange looks and listen more.

 

_ “Thud… Thud… Thud… Thud…” _

 

Shit.

 

Hongjoong’s heart dips. There’s two outcomes he can forsee: another closet situation or a run-in. Both are shit.

 

Hongjoong nods behind them. Though it’s still not clear where the sound’s from, he’s guessing it’s ahead - not behind them. Seonghwa nods, and the two trot as quietly as possible back from whence they came. 

 

Joong swallows nervously as he checks a corner they’d turned minutes prior. Clear. Good. He’s terrified they may end up all the way back at the closet at this rate, but the alternative is far worse. 

 

The pair rounds another corner, and Hongjoong freezes.

 

What the fuck? 

 

There’s people there. 

 

A small throng of patrol, all searching the hallway and the doors lining it.

 

Fuck.

 

Nerves twist the captain’s throat, making it hard to breathe. He concentrates on looking forward, doing what has to be done. Hongjoong yanks Seonghwa by the sleeve and pulls him back around where they came from. 

 

_ “Squee-!” _

 

Someone’s shoes squeaked against the metal. Panic spikes in the captain’s chest. Still, he stubbornly holds onto the hope that maybe they didn’t hear?

 

“What was that?” “Wait- Down there.”

 

Fuck.

 

That was a severe miscalculation. And now they could possibly die for it.

 

Fuck.

 

He and Seonghwa exchange expressions of terror and nod. They make a break for it.

 

“Hey-!” “Hey, stop!” “That’s them, it’s gotta be!” “Let’s go!” The thugs shout after them, picking up their pace.

 

The duo ignores the cries after them, feet pounding against metal as they bound in the opposite direction.

 

“-you hear something?” “I think it’s them-“

 

Wait- What?

 

Hongjoong leads Seonghwa around a corner and halts almost immediately. There they are. More of them. In front of them. The footsteps behind them get louder by the second as the silhouettes before them creep closer. Hongjoong freezes. His head whips left and right in search of some hiding place to duck into. He even looks above, searching for a faulty vent. Something.

 

There’s nothing. Not even some god-forsaking storage closet. It’s pure, pristine, gleaming wall. The wall stretches out in front of them, seemingly endless lining the long corridor. 

 

Fuck. 

 

Hongjoong blinks rapidly in hopes that it’ll clear the blurring at the edges of his vision. It doesn’t. He glances over his shoulder, and his terror spikes upon seeing their pursuers rounding the corner. The ones in front of him take notice of their presence and move to close the gap.

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

“This is the part where we shoot,” Petty Officer Park Seonghwa’s calm voice cuts through the buzz of worry filling Hongjoong’s ears. He looks at the other incredulously, but the expression isn't met with response. Instead the PO yanks his gun out from the back of his waistband and holds it down by his thigh.

 

“We charge at them first,” He instructs quietly. “Take them out then worry about the ones behind.”

 

Hongjoong nods dumbly. He certainly doesn’t have any better ideas. Or worse ideas. He has no ideas at all. He’s still a tad dumbstruck by the thugs pincering on them.

 

Hesitantly, Joong follows the other as they trot toward the three man squad in front of them,“I- Isn’t that a ballistic gun? Won’t it really damage-“

 

“Would you prefer the alternative?” Seonghwa huffs.

 

“Hey, you!” “-he heading toward us?” “Stop! “Shut up, let’s just stun ‘em-“

 

Joong frowns at the PO, “Please don’t kill these men-“

 

“I’ll  _ immobilize _ them,” The platinum blond groans and rolls his eyes - as if the entire situation is a mere nuisance. “C’mon let’s get close range before they decide to pick us off quickly.”

 

He picks up into a sprint then, and Hongjoong has no choice but to follow. The two approach rapidly. Soon, Hongjoong is putting on the brakes to avoid crashing into someone. Though initially it seemed insane to go toward their closest enemies, Joong feels much more comfortable in close combat. 

 

When the two start, it’s two versus three - at least for the moment. Hongjoong’s dealing with a particularly lanky one. The thug curses, swiping at the captain. Luckily, he’s agile and ducks easily. He goes for the high center of gravity, rushing forward to get the guy off his feet. Thinking quickly, Joong grabs the barrel of his little pistol and uses the handle like a bludgeon. The handle manages to land somewhere near the guy’s temple, and he’s at least stunned for a duration.

 

Hongjoong glances over to see if Seonghwa needs help, but the trained officer’s already wrapping up with number two. Shit. Joong feels a pang of illness wash over him. That could damn well be him under different circumstances. The thug struggles as Seonghwa lifts him by the collar, but it’s no use. The blond throws him onto the ground roughly, and the knock of metal against bone echoes grossly across the corridor.

 

Though Hongjoong would never, ever,  _ ever _ dare say it out loud - in that moment, Seonghwa scares him a little bit. The man executes combat maneuvers with ease and without guilt, all while wearing an expression Joong can only describe as glacial. He hurts with no discernible remorse. Perhaps it’s due to their situation being one of survival. Perhaps not. Hongjoong figures: he’ll never know, and that’s okay. He doesn’t  _ want _ to know. Because getting even a glimpse of those cerulean eyes gives him a chill he can’t quite describe. He’d rather not delve into that.

 

Luckily, his typically roaming mind doesn’t feel inclined to go anywhere but the present. Not with another three thugs lunging four them just meters away.

 

“What the fuck-“ “Fuck this, let’s just shoot ‘em-“ “But the bounty-“ “Stop!”

 

_ “Bang- Bang!”  _

 

Hongjoong reels from the sound. Shrill ringing fills his ears, pulsing into his temples and transforming into aching pain. Fuck. The sound carries. Hell, he’s not the only one. All of the thugs hunch over and wince from pain. Everyone except the man responsible for the discharge. 

 

Seonghwa stands firmly, gun pointed at the cluster of gangsters. 

 

“Fuck- He’s got a gun.” “Well, shit, so do we-”

 

Joong doesn’t wait for further prompting to tackle the nearest one to the ground. The thug in baggy clothes grunts, grimacing and struggling. Hongjoong reaches for the guy’s gun, focusing on disarming him as Seonghwa gets into it with the others. He hears sounds of the struggle beside him - cursing and the pound of fists against flesh.

 

“You have a gun, too, idiot!” Seonghwa scolds Joong while planting a foot square on a thug’s torso. Figures, he’s got a talent for running his mouth while fighting.

 

Wait.

  
The pistol.

 

Right.

 

The captain uses all his might to keep the guy under him down while groping his pockets in search of his little shooter. He grabs the thing and starts fiddling with it. He’s never used a laser shooter before, and while it seems straightforward, there’s a surprising amount of little buttons.

 

“Are you serious?!” Seonghwa huffs, glowering at Hongjoong beside him as he ducks a punch from a nearby thug.

 

_ “Bang!” _

 

Another ballistic shot echoes through the chamber - this time, not shot by Seonghwa. Shit.

 

“What?! It’s not like I’ve ever used one of these!” Joong argues, batting away a fist that cut dangerously close to his jaw.

 

“Like you’ve never played a fucking-” The platinum blond’s wrist gets grabbed by one of their captors. “-video game.” He wrests it away, landing a kick in the other’s groin. The guy scrunches up and crumbles to the ground, his gun falling limply with a metallic clink.

 

Hongjoong groans,“Oh fuck off-” Suddenly, gravity shifts. No, not gravity. He shifts. The guy beneath him flips them over. The smell of sulfur and lead tickles Hongjoong’s nose as he comes face to face with the barrel of an old pistol. Logical thought floods out of Hongjoong’s brain, replaced by pure impulse. He grips the shooter in his hand with a vice and starts pressing buttons and squeezing the trigger.

 

_ “Zzzzzzt!!” _ A little bolt discharges from the shooter, and sparks dance across the thug’s body. He shudders violently, and his eyes roll back. It’s horrific, feeling the man’s body totally lock up. Joong is partially terrified that the stunning sparks will jump onto him. He panickedly shuffles out from under the other, watching the body seize up before going limp.

 

The captain’s gaze falls on the petty officer as if in ask for guidance. Close combat isn’t quite his thing. Of the four, one is stunned, and another seems to be reeling on the floor. That leaves them two on two. 

 

Finally, some fair odds. 

 

Except, the one in front of Seonghwa seems to have all of his attention, and another behind him looks suspicious. Hongjoong watches the one who’d snuck off slowly reach into his pocket. Light twinkles off of metal - a sure indication of weapon. More likely than not, a gun.

 

Seonghwa’s heatedly engaged with the one in front of him, grappling for control over the thug’s firearm. Hongjoong dazedly watches the one behind the PO withdraw his- yup, it’s a gun. Joong swallows nervously as he collects himself off of the ground.

 

The unoccupied thug is fast, and in seconds Hongjoong hears it. The telltale “click” of a pistol being cocked. Fuck. Seonghwa doesn’t even know, he’s too busy. He doesn’t even see the other lining up his shot.

 

“S-Seonghwa, behind you-!” Hongjoong shouts, lunging for the one who’d gone unnoticed. The PO turns around, eyes wide. 

 

The thug eyes his two opponents before pulling the trigger. Hongjoong’s body moves without consent from his mind. He half-leaps toward the other.

 

_ “Bang!” _

 

Another loud shot rings through the massive corridor. There’s a flash of light from the end of the barrel. Then a scream. A gasp. A yell. Searing, hot pain, and warmth running down one arm.

 

“Shit!” The thug beneath Hongjoong curses.

 

Wait- he’d tackled one of them?

 

He’d tackled one of them. Not just “one of them” - he’d tackled the one. But what about Seonghwa? The shot went off - is he okay? Hongjoong’s head whips around, worry gripping his heart firmly for an instant. The grip slackens when he catches sight of the PO. He’d ducked to the side; his eyes are wide open, and his jaw is dropped with absolute shock.

 

But he’s okay. Totally okay.

 

Hongjoong glances at his arm - the one in immense pain. There’s a tear in the fabric of his jacket. Even more jarring is the massive splotch of red seeping down and across the sleeve. It stings, like he’d been stung by the most vicious, venomous creature in the entire universe. By reflex, he swipes a hand across the pooling blood on the side of his arm. There’s a slight indentation, but nothing more. It was a graze. Thank fucking god.

 

There’s no time for celebration, though. Seonghwa already shifted his attention back to the one in front of him. With the brief window of distraction, he’d managed to disarm the other. The PO whips the hefty handle of the attacker’s arm across the thug’s head. A weighty “thwak” sounds out, and the unfortunate who’d been on the receiving end stumbles back. 

 

Abrupt force pushes Hongjoong off kilter, and he ends up on his ass on the floor. Shit. He’d been so distracted, he forgot about the one left. The gangster mutters some derogatory words and brandishes his gun threateningly. Once again, Hongjoong looks down the barrel of a grimy looking pistol.

 

“You’re worth more alive,” The thug huffs, “But fuck this-!”

 

_ “Bang-!!” _

 

Hongjoong gasps and flinches. He feels stupid, being unable to do anything. The shot came without warning, he had no time to move, too petrified by the sight before him. It only takes an instant for the bullet to hit flesh, but that moment stretches on to feel like a lifetime. 

 

The captain doesn’t see a highlight reel of his memories. Hell, there’s not even a sensation, a feeling. Joong registers the faint sensation of warm liquid splattering. Blood, obviously. His ears ring; he’s fairly certain that’s from the shot. He doesn’t see a bright light, nor does any sort of deity or angel appear in his vision. On the contrary, all he can see is the silhouette of Petty Officer Park Seonghwa. To some, he probably looks like an angel. To Hongjoong, he’s just a reminder of the turning point of his life. How he’d gone from modest junker to interstellar captain - only to meet his end in the guts of some gangster warship.

 

Hongjoong waits.

 

He waits for his escort to heaven, or for the numbing, cold embrace of death. 

 

However, when the ringing in his ears dies down, he doesn’t hear the soothing voice of some angel ushering him in through the pearly gates. No. Instead, he hears the same shit he’s been hearing on and off for the past few hours. Cursing, grunting, and fighting.

 

Air ejects itself from Hongjoong’s lungs, and he hesitantly blinks his eyes open. After blinking away the bleariness onset by panic, he’s shocked to see not red or blinding light. He sees PO Park Seonghwa throwing a fist at the thug in front of him. 

 

Thug in front of him?

 

Wait. What?

 

The captain sluggishly tries to put the pieces together. He feels like a moron for not noticing the brilliant flash of scarlet running down the guy’s arm. A few more blows are exchanged. Hongjoong wants to help, he does. However, his body stays put, planted on the ground. He struggles to move, still dazed from compounding stress and physical strain.

 

“F-Fu...ck…” The gangster lets out a last feeble curse before falling to the ground.

 

Seonghwa remains standing, staring down at the other cautiously. Finally, Hongjoong musters the strength to get up. He hobbles over to Seonghwa’s side, gripping his bad arm. 

 

“A-Are you okay?” The captain asks the PO dumbly. His eyes hone in on the other’s bleeding arm and- 

 

Holy fuck.

 

Holy  _ fuck _ .

 

There’s a bullet lodged in Seonghwa’s shoulder.

 

Hongjoong gasps, “Wh- Fuck! Shit- Are you- are you okay?”

 

“I… ‘M fine,” Seonghwa exhales. He kicks the guy by his feet and nods. “Enemies neutralized. We gotta keep movin’.”

 

“Uh- I think we should- we should find somewhere to duck into and rest-”

 

“No. ‘M fine,” Seonghwa replies. He does not appear fine. Blood gushes from the bullet wound in his shoulder, and he sways off-balance. His face looks alabaster in comparison to just minutes earlier, and his efforts at keeping a straight face falter by the minute.

 

“Y-You are not fine, you- you…” 

 

You took a bullet for me - that’s what Hongjoong wants to say. Something stops him, though. He doesn’t know why. But he can’t bear to say it out loud. It sounds too… Too good? It makes Seonghwa sound like a good, noble person. Or worse - like he gives a shit about Hongjoong. Like their arrangement is anything more than an interim truce so they can both get the fuck out.

 

Joong strikes the thoughts from his head, focusing on the present, “I- I think I saw an infirmary not too far from the lift. Let’s go.”

 

“Wh- N… No,” Seonghwa replies as he starts walking in the direction they’d originally planned. He teeters slightly in spite of the clear effort he puts into appearing okay. “We need to go.”

 

“Wh- Are you serious?!” Hongjoong gasps. His little bee sting feels like nothing compared to the volcanic pullet wound the other sports. “No.” 

  
The captain switches sides and grabs Seonghwa’s good arm. He yanks the guides the other forward as quickly as possible. They’re not far from the elevator, but all the gunshots could’ve easily alerted others. They have to be careful. Just the thought of running into more thugs makes Hongjoong’s guts twist.

 

“We’re going to the infirmary,” Hongjoong insists, dragging the other forward as quickly as possible without overexerting the blond.

 

“We need… To get… Off,” Seonghwa asserts through gritted teeth.

 

“Just shut up and- um, apply pressure to the wound or something,” Hongjoong demands. He’s never gotten shot with a bullet, he really doesn’t know the protocol. Pressure seems like a good thing - right? Sure.

 

Worries bubble and broil in the captain’s gut as he ushers the other forward. There’s so, so much noise inside his head. It all melds into screeching static. Only one message previals: forward.

 

Move forward.

 

Go forward.

 

To the infirmary. To the crew. To ATEEZ. To the Treasure.

 

Go.

 

* * *

 

“Hear anyone, Yunho?” Wooyoung asks, tapping away at a PC console. They’d managed to make their way into some unmanned control hub, and Wooyoung expediently started doing his magic. Or trying to.

 

“Shit,” The younger one curses after getting locked out again. 

 

“Everything’s echoey,” The canis frowns. The little hub branches off in two directions. Jongho leans against the wall between them to keep watch. The other four stand behind the hub, helping Wooyoung. Well, “helping”. They’re more there for moral support, really. At least, Mingi and Yunho are. San?

 

Not so much.

 

The siren’s a ball of tension, and the aura emanating him is so pungently acrid, it makes Yunho recoil just to stand near him. Yunho pities anyone stupid enough to fuck with the guy when he’s like this. Mingi sits on top of the console half a meter away. The air around him contrasts starkly with that of the siren. The Venusian’s fingers fidget idly. He stirs and jumps at every slight noise, and his pupils flit around anxiously. Yunho gives Wooyoung a conciliatory pat on the shoulder before taking a place between the Venusian and the siren.

 

He looks to Mingi and gives a reassuring grin, quietly, he whispers, “It’s gonna be fine.”

 

“Of course,” Mingi nods. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe the words, though.

 

“We’re almost all together-”

 

“Fuck-!” Woo’s loud curse interrupts the moment. “I- I feel like I’m forgetting something. I actually need a password… A-Any ideas?” He turns to those beside him. Mingi and Yunho shrug while San simply glares.

 

A pang of guilt hits the canis, and he starts looking around, “Maybe there’s, like, a password posted somewhere around here. Or something?” Wooyoung looks at him incredulously, to which he shrugs in response. Desperate to at least feel helpful, Yunho starts searching the console.

 

“Okay,” Woo huffs. “Maybe if I just- lemme just  _ think _ . Maybe it’s. Stray… Boys?” 

 

_ “Buzz.” _ The projected screen flashes red with rejection. Wooyoung groans.

 

Yunho rifles through the small desk areas between the keyboards. They’re mostly blank save for some straggling rubber bands and specks of dust. Seems like the area doesn’t get much use. He goes over to one of the built-in sets of drawers and pulls them open one by one. Top drawer? Nothing. Middle drawer? Nothing. Bottom drawer? Also nothing.

 

“Uhm. The… Stray… Boyz?” Wooyoung tries like he’s pleading with the computer. 

 

_ “Buzz.” _

 

Jongho shouts from his post by the hall, “Try putting in, like, uppercase letters! Oh- And random numbers!”

 

“Oh, right. Good idea,” Wooyoung shouts back.

 

Yunho squats down to check the floors. Aside from a few chairs, there’s nothing but more dust. He pulls out the drawers of another set, bottom up. Bottom drawer? Empty.

 

“Fuck,” Wooyoung heaves a sigh. He starts banging his head against the console.

 

Middle drawer? Empty.

 

“Why don’t we try one direction?” Jongho asks.

 

“We definitely can’t risk it,” Wooyoung tells the youngest. “We could end up even more lost than we are. We need to find Yeo and the captain stat.”

 

Top drawer? Empty- Wait, not empty. Yunho’s brows raise as he notices the faint contrast of a white rectangle against a white drawer. He reaches in, pleased to find that there’s something in the drawer. There’s no way it could possibly be what they’re looking for, though - right?

 

“Thr… Three… Thr-Thrah-?” Yunho mumbles, trying to pronounce the scrawl on the paper.

 

“No, Yunho,” Wooyoung groans with his face planted on the keyboard. “We only have two people left to find.”

 

“Three… Rah-Rah-cha? Rach-ah?” Yunho squints at the odd paper he’d found. Scribbled in black ink, it reads: “3RACHA”. Feeling defeated, the canis sighs, extending it toward the lamenting human. “Hey, Wooyoung, what does this say?”

 

“Hm?” Wooyoung lifts his head (which now has a few handsome indentations from the keyboard). He quirks an eyebrow, eyeing the bold type. “Uh, it looks like a bunch of letters and numbers.”

 

“Well, eyah, I know that, but, like- what does it mean?”

 

“Buddy, that’s not a word,” Wooyoung replies.

 

“It’s not?”

 

“Of course not. What kind of word has numbers in it?” Woo sits up, his interest clearly piqued. He snatches the paper and inspects the letters. 

 

Yunho flushes, rubbing his nape sheepishly, “I don’t know, man. There’s a lot of weird, fancy words out there.”

 

“No, no,” The hume shakes his head. “This looks more like a code…” He taps his fingers against the desk, contemplating the letters for a few minutes. After thinking it over, he hesitantly types it into the console.

 

_ “Beep!” _ A green confirmation icon pops up on the screen, and Wooyoung gawks.

 

“H-Holy shit, that actually worked,” He gasps.

 

“Wait- Are you serious?!” Jongho hollers.

 

Mingi’s brows raise incredulously,“Seems a bit silly to just keep the password on a piece of paper right by the console, doesn’t it?”

 

“Well,” Wooyoung mutters, getting to work. “The gang- conglomerate- whatever it is- is pretty damn big. I imagine with lots of new people coming in, it’s hard for everyone to adapt to a single system of passcodes and such. Someone probably forgot a lot and kept it there for a reminder.”

 

Makes sense to Yunho. A few more screens pop up. There’s lists of files and what appear to be flat schematics. All of it boggles the canis, so he just takes his place between Mingi and San again. 

 

Turning to the Venusian, he mutters another reassurance, “See, it’ll be fine. We’ll find them in no time.” This time, he opts to be a tad bold. Mood and mentality is just as key to getting through things as physical wellness. Perhaps moreso. This Yunho knows from experience. He figures even if they seem minor and conciliatory, his remarks ought to help. Even if just a little. At the very least, maybe it can distract Mingi from getting lost in his own worried thoughts.

 

“This place seems massive,” Mingi remarks doubtfully. He worries at his lower lips, eyes hesitant shifting from the computer to Yunho’s. 

 

“We’ve gotten past worse shit,” Yunho replies. He reaches for Mingi’s hand and squeezes it assuringly, focusing all the positive energy he can muster into the gesture. Mingi’s tense expression softens, and the edges of his gorgeous, plush lips.

 

Suddenly, Yunho feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  He shudders a bit - and not from the warm regard of his crush. No, it’s something on the other side of him shooting intangible beams of scorn. Yunho braves a quick glance to the side.

 

There he sees San coiled more tightly than ever. The siren’s pupils dart away the second they notice the canis’s eyes on him. His aura exudes even more ire than before. It’s like he’s locking himself tightly in a spiky coffin. 

 

Yunho frowns.

 

Though he admittedly feels slightly terrified, he daringly extends his other hand toward San.

 

“You, too,” Yunho tells the other softly. He squeezes the siren’s wrist soothingly. “We’ll be okay.”

 

At this point, Yunho sees two outcomes: San will either be receptive or he’ll bite Yunho’s head off. Perhaps literally. You never know, really. It’s not that San is a violent person, but Yunho’s not sure he’s ever seen San in that bad of a mood. Who knows what he’s like when he’s pissed. Yunho definitely isn’t eager to find out.

 

The canis feels immensely grateful when the other unfolds his arms and takes his hand. The ire dissolves - at least mostly. San’s eyes crease as he returns the gesture with a grin. Good, Yunho thinks. He deserves a bit of care, too. Even if he’s totally badass and could probably kill them all. Being badass doesn’t mean a person never needs a little tenderness in their life. Sometimes, when people seem self-assured, it’s easy to forget. However, living with Hongjoong for years has honed Yunho’s senses.

 

“Okay,” Wooyoung murmurs. “I got it.”

 

That rouses the group’s attention, and everyone save for Jongho gathers around the cluster of projected screens. There’s a holographic schematic of the ship and a few floor plans.

 

“Now, lemme just see if I can find security feeds for the cell blocks…” Wooyoung mutters as he types. A few of the screens swap to security footage, and Woo skips through it quickly.

 

“Oh- That’s us!” Mingi gasps, pointing to one of the screens - feed from a camera on the block he’d been brought to hours prior. Wooyoung nods. He repeats the process for various cell blocks - pulling up the feeds, swapping through until he finds someone, and making note of the location. 

 

“There’s Yeosang,” San points out on another screen. There’s a hazy picture of Yeo getting brought to a room on a cart. Strange. Then, finallly, after another few minutes of searching, they find the captain.

 

“Oh fuck,” Yunho breathes out unintentionally. The poor bastard’s with the Petty Officer. Shit. They might kill each other.

 

“Yeosang’s closer,” Wooyoung remarks, nodding to the projected map. 

 

The canis purses his lips with displeasure, ultimately nodding in concession. Judging by the location Woo marked, Yeosang definitely is closer. They ought to fetch him first, then. Still, a tinge of worry underlies Yunho’s cautious hopefulness.

 

“So we go there first?” He asks the human.

 

Wooyoung nods, “I think that’s our best bet. Any… Other thoughts?” He nibbles his lower lip worriedly, looking to the other two. Mingi shakes his head while San simply looks at the other contemptuously. Ouch.

 

“What?” Jongho hollers from his position across the clearing.

 

Woo shouts back, “We’re getting Yeosang first!”

 

“Okay!” The youngest flashes a thumbs up.

 

That settles that, and soon the other four are laboring to burn the ship’s map into their retinas. After a few minutes and a lot of repetition (“left, then right, then left and straight for awhile…”) they feel confident. Well, as confident as one can feel when they’re on a massive warship surrounded by gangsters hellbent on taking them into the Coalition.

 

“Jongho, we clear?” Wooyoung asks as the four approach their dutiful lookout. The youngest nods before joining the cluster, and they all turn left. Quiet falls over them as they pace down the corridor. Wooyoung takes point while San and Jongho fall into line behind him. Mingi lingers back hesitantly, prompting Yunho to hang back with him.

 

Their steps echo loudly, muddling the canis’s senses. Usually he prides himself on picking out sounds. In theory, it could help them get an edge on any potential attackers. However, their steps alone ricochet  _ so much _ inside the metal corridors. It’s almost difficult to hear his own thoughts.

 

Suddenly, Mingi hops up, eyes going wide and shrinks back. A tiny gasp leaves his lips, and his pupils dart around manically.

 

“Wh- Are you alright?” Yunho asks hushedly. The others turn to look over their shoulders, brows quirked or furrowed with inquiry. 

 

Mingi glances around sheepishly, “Uh- Thought I heard something.” He coughs awkwardly, and the ones in front turn around, stifling chuckles and curses. 

 

“S-Sorry,” The Venusian whispers to the canis. 

 

Yunho flashes the other a reassuring smile. He feels like that’s all he’s good for right now, really. Reassurance. He doesn’t know shit about hacking into warships or gang activity. At least his tail seems to make people happy for some reason. For him, it’s been nothing but a massive inconvenience for the most part. Though, he supposes it did score him the attention of a handsome Venusian prince. He’s not certain that Mingi’s attention quite outweighs a lifetime of hiding steeped in dread.

 

Without warning, a hand closes around Yunho’s. His heart jumps into this throat, and heat prickles his cheeks. Looking down, he sees Mingi’s hand closed around his own. The canis’s eyes shyly flit to the Venusian who pays him no mind. Mingi’s eyes are fixed forward as he continues to abuse his poor lower lip. 

 

He probably just needs a bit more comfort, that’s all.

 

Yunho swallows nervously and ventures interlacing their fingers. It’s more comfortable and easier to hold on. If they have to run anywhere, he wouldn’t want the other to lose grip. He strokes the other’s hand with his thumb soothingly, trying to tame the tingling sensation in his chest.

 

Minutes crawl along slowly, dripping tension. The halls are long and straight, making every single corner feel impossibly daunting to turn. It’s shocking just how empty the place is. Yunho wonders what gives. Is it mealtime? Or naptime? Then again, none of the other cells they pass are occupied. Perhaps they don’t populate the cell blocks because it’s not necessary. Yunho highly doubts anyone anticipated ATEEZ’s crew actually escaping.

 

After what feels like eons (but is probably closer to half an hour) of walking, Wooyoung halts. He holds out an arm, urging the others behind him to stop. Mingi’s grip on Yunho’s hand tightens, and the group presses themselves against the nearby wall.

  
They’d been quiet before, but the silence somehow manages to grow even more stifling. Yunho cranes his neck, trying to sneak a peek around the corner they’d stopped at.

 

His heart seizes.

 

A group of thugs walk in formation toward them. Yunho realizes that the muted pattering of feet against metal couldn’t have been them. They’d stopped. He feels silly for missing the detail and frowns. Those thoughts have to wait, though. They’ve got more pressing issues at hand than the canis’s lack of usefulness. The gangsters mutter to one another, but when Yunho tries to hear what they’re saying, he gets nothing. Everything’s too damn echoey. It ultimately results in more noise than anything else. Woo glances behind the group, then to Yunho.

 

What the hell do they do now?

 

Turning back will burn precious time. Wooyoung has a firearm, but shooting seems way too noisy and imprudent. They can’t exactly hide in the cells lining the halls. Wooyoung glances at San. 

 

Of course.

  
The siren could use his gift to help them. However, the first mate is met with a resentful scowl. Yunho opts to do the talking on his behalf. Even with their lives at stake, Yunho isn’t positive the siren would be receptive to any requests from Woo at the moment.

 

Yunho whispers, “San, there’s a few around the corner. Do you think you could… I dunno do… Siren things?” Not the most eloquently put request he could’ve put forth. However, the siren doesn’t look pissed at him, so that’s a plus.

 

San’s expression softens as his focus shifts from Wooyoung to Yunho. He sneaks forward, glancing around the corner as well. 

 

“I… I could,” He whispers. “I just…” He glances at the crew. “You have very sensitive hearing, don’t you?”

 

“Uh, yes. Why?” Yunho asks.

 

San frowns, “I’m not certain that you would be safe if I project my voice that much. Plugging one’s ears may work for regular humans- only for brief periods. However, I- I could hurt you. I’m- I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. We can- um- we can figure something else out,” Wooyoung blurts out. The air around the siren seems to bristle just at the sound of the human’s voice. However, he apparently decides to put aside his irritation (if only for the time being). 

 

“Perhaps we ought to use the element of surprise to our advantage,” San posits.

 

Seems like a decent plan. The crew exchanges a few questioning glances. Nobody speaks out in opposition, so they opt to go with it. Not like there’s anything better to do.

 

At some point, the Stray Boyz and or Kids will need to turn the corner. There’s only one way forward. Then, they’ll strike. They have to. Every second that passes is a second that Yeosang is trapped god knows where. Or - worse - a second that Hongjoong is sharing a cell with Petty Officer Prick. Yunho silently prays that the petty officer hasn’t strangled his best friend. On the other hand, if he comes to learn the reverse happened, he wouldn’t lose much sleep over it.

 

The crew takes their places, pressed up against the wall behind them. 

  
Then, they wait.

 

The footsteps get closer.

 

They get closer and closer and closer.

 

Even breathing sounds loud to Yunho as he tries to keep quiet as possible. Mingi’s still got a firm grip on his hand, but he knows he’ll have to let go as soon as their jailers turn the corner.

 

They sound close - almost on top of them, and Yunho’s eyes dart to the corner. 

 

Any second now.

 

Entirely too many sensations swim through Yunho’s veins. He feels like he’s alight with frothing static electricity. It teeters on the edge of too much. Perhaps in a different situation - one in which his life wasn’t under such immediate threat - he’d have gotten overwhelmed already. There’s too much at stake for that, though. He’s got no time to lose himself in overstimulation. He has a crew to look out for, a captain to save and a good friend to comfort.

 

Any second now.

 

Nerves constrict the canis’s throat. More smells float into his nose. Sweat and metal, a bit of grime and a lingering trace of food. Curry with meat, it smells like. 

 

Any.

  
Second.

 

Now.

 

Yunho watches the corner, and just beyond he notices shadows cresting the threshold.

 

Any.

 

Second.

 

Now!

 

The first thug to turn the corner is most unfortunate. Wooyoung lunges for the guy’s legs and tackles him to the ground. San moves swiftly as well, a rapid blur in pursuit of the next nearest target.

 

“What the hell-” “Fuck-!” “Oh fuck.” “They’ve gotten out-” “Shoot to stun-” “Is that the siren!?”

 

Chaos ensues. Yunho jolts reflexively, but the grip on his hand tightens even more. 

 

Right. Mingi. 

 

Yunho turns to the other, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. It’s clear from the way the Venusian’s eyes dart about that he’s bordering panic. Even with military training, he seems completely paralyzed.

 

“Stay here, be careful,” Yunho softly imparts before joining the fray. Mingi nods numbly, a ball of nerves. Though Yunho wishes he could stay by the other’s side and assure he’s okay, he knows he’ll be of way more use as an extra body. 

 

_ “Thwaack-!” _ “Security alert, security alert-! Guys, I think the siren got ou-” “Fuck!”  _ “Thud-!” “Clang.” _ “Stay down-”

 

Fists fly and guns clatter to the ground. Jongho handles two while Wooyoung struggles to wrestle a gun away from another. San’s opponent is apparently fairly canny, and the thug keeps a hand firmly clamped over the siren’s mouth as they struggle.

 

“Fuck- Is he calling security?!” Jongho curses as he throws one of the thugs (one of five, to be precise).

 

“MFff-fff!” San seethes under his rather bulky adversary’s heft. “Mmmhfhghgh!” 

 

Yunho decides that helping him out would be his best bet. Wooyoung in the meanwhile manages to disarm the one he’s grappling with and smacks him square in the face with the arm.

 

_ “Thwack-!” “Thud!!” _ “Fuck-!” “We need backup- n-now-” “I don’t think so, siren-”  _ “Thwack.” _

 

Yunho’s style of fighting is almost completely formed by bar room brawls and street fights. That is to say, it’s very misinformed and almost entirely improvised. Unsure how to approach, he tries tugging San’s pursuer off by the collar. The thug totally ignores his effort, pusing San into a wall.

 

Fine. Time to use a rougher hand.

 

Yunho really doesn’t like hurting people. He really doesn’t! But given the circumstances, he supposes he’ll have to make peace with it. Yunho throws a punch at the pursuer’s head, and that does the trick. The canis’s fist lands just above the guy’s ear, and he can practically see the stars dancing above the gangster’s head. The thug reels back, blinking a few times confusedly. His grip on San’s mouth slackens, giving the siren the perfect opening.

 

San gasps for air momentarily before leaning forward and whispering something into the guy’s ear. That’s all it takes for him to come crashing to the ground, completely knocked out.

 

“Oh fuck.” “Fuck!” “Guys, the siren is out- I repeat, the siren is out.” The three remaining conscious start to panic. Jongho holds two of them by their collars, centimeters off the ground. They kick and wriggle curses, trying to get out. One paws around his pants before brandishing a gun in their general direction.

 

“Hey, siren,” Jongho huffs. Even with his strength, he struggles to keep the two under control. “Could use a little help.”

 

“Of course,” San responds primly. He strides over to the writhing thugs almost lackadaisically, as if knocking them out is none but a mere trifle. Yunho guesses that it probably is nothing to him. That should make San scary, but honestly it’s just sort of cool to the canis. He’s certainly glad the guy is with them.

 

“Don’t you fucking- Get near m-!” “Fuck!” “Um- I- I gotta go-! Code G-I-D-” 

 

San steps over to one and leans in whispering into the guy’s ear. His body falls limp in Jongho’s grasp, and the youngest drops him unceremoniously. He holds the remaining one out to San, and the siren repeats the process with ease. When number two’s KO’d, Jongho throws him on top of the first one and dusts off his hands. 

  
That leaves one more.

  
Except, they’d been so distracted they didn’t even notice the guy starting to slink away.

 

Oh hell no.

 

ATEEZ exchange glances before rushing toward the unfortunate loner. It’s almost a race to see who can body the fucker first. A litany of terrified curses echo down the hall from the last standing thug as they chase. 

  
Wooyoung ends up being the one to win. His powerful legs carry him forward until he’s within jumping distance, and he tackles the gangster with full force. When the two collide, the momentum keeps carrying them forward, and the two roll around (probably banging poor Woo up with all sorts of bruises).

 

The rest of those who’d been running reach them seconds later. Yunho practically trips as he tries to stop himself from overshooting the two.

 

“Call off the security- or whatever!” Wooyoung demands, on top of the other.

 

The thug grimaces, “Fuck you. It’s too late!”

 

“I  _ said _ call them off.”

 

“And I said fuck you. Only admins can call off orders once the code’s been recited,” He smirks smugly.

 

Wooyoung clutches a fist angrily. He quickly chooses the thug beneath him as a target for venting his frustration. The guy’s eyes roll back immediately. Damn. Wooyoung gets added to the list of people not to fuck with.

 

“Shit,” Woo hisses as he gets off the guy. “Shit.”

 

The crew exchange worried looks, each begging the question: 

  
What happens now?

 

“Did- did we win?” Mingi’s voice echoes down the hall, garnering everyone’s attention. Yunho spots the Venusian just barely peeping out from the corner. Cute.

 

Jongho heaves a sigh, “Yes, Mingi. We won.”

 

“Oh, sick,” The (not)prince flashes a dorky thumbs up, like Jongho told him he won a raffle or something.  _ Cute. _

 

“Come on,” Yunho chuckles, inviting the other over with a nod. Mingi trots over to them, looking from side to side as if someone else is gonna materialize in the long, empty hallway.

 

“Look,” Wooyoung speaks up, trying to reign everyone in. “This doesn’t change the plan, okay. Things might be a little harder, but we’re halfway to Yeo.”

 

Mingi tries to add some assurance,“I- I mean it’s not like there’s any wailing sirens or anything.”

 

_ “Wheeep! Wheeeep! Wheeeep! Wheeeep!” _ Yunho winces, rushing to cover his ears from the sudden trill of alarm sirens.

 

“Security alert: there has been a breach in cell blocks six-B and-” A voice drones over speakers.

 

“I’m gonna stop talking,” The Venusian clamps his lips shut, guilt written all over his face.

 

“Ah- Fuck,” Wooyoung huffs. “We- We gotta move. Let’s go!” He starts running for it. Jongho and San quickly follow, leaving a rather dazed Mingi and Yunho behind.

 

Yunho grits his teeth, willing himself to ignore the pulsing pain in his head. He grabs Mingi by the wrist and starts running. Wooyoung is right. This changes nothing about their plan. They did it once - a daring, near-death escape.

 

They’re gonna have to do it again.

 

* * *

 

“Hmm-hmm…” The sound of Kevin’s humming drifts up toward the top of the lab chamber. “-bloom  _ pow _ ! Hmm- hmm-hmm hm hmm-hm…”

 

Soon after he’d tested his legs out, they, too, had gotten bound to the slab. 

  
Two got out, he reminds himself.

 

Two got out.

 

He hadn’t heard anything about them since overhearing Kevin’s call. He’s got no idea if they’re dead, alive, injured or okay. Holding onto the hope that they’re okay is all that’s kept him from lapsing into a depression. Still, he loathes feeling so damn helpless. He’s not used to it. When things started going south in BH, he fixed it. Because that’s what he does: he fixes things. He helps people. He does everything in his power to make sure everyone’s okay.

 

Now, he can’t do any of that. 

 

He’s at the mercy of some fucked-up wacko lemur hybrid. The one benefit of hours with nobody but Kevin for company is the data. His time in the other’s presence is short. Conventionally, Yeosang would never draw conclusions from so little. However, in this case, he feels he has no choice in the matter. So, he’s started trying to pick out patterns. Time the strange “blackouts” as he’s dubbed them. Pick out what the hell the guy’s prattling on about to himself. Something rattles every so often - Yeosang infers it’s something on the hybrid’s desk. He imagines it has to do with the other’s tendency to fidget. Maybe he’s got a shaky leg if he sits too long. 

 

It rattles on and off for about ten minute spells, then Yeosang hears shifting. Movement. Standing up, perhaps. Kevin’s twitchy. Real twitchy. He doesn’t like being static. 

 

When his rambling reaches Yeo’s ears, the cyborg hears a lot about the synthorganic aspects. That seems to be a hangup of Kevin’s. The merging of machine and man. The tissue, especially. There’s something about the marriage of fake and real tissues.

 

Kevin repeats himself often - something else Yeo’s picked up. He’ll say the same thing over and over and over again. Why? From some of the stuff Yeo’s picked up, the kid’s not stupid. Yeosang can rattle all off myriad insults for the hybrid - but none of them can be directed at his intellect. He seems like a genuine mad genius. The kind that shows up in comic books. Rambling, lunatic, but undeniably brilliant. So why is he always repeating himself?

 

Judging by his tone, the borderline urgency of it, Yeosang links it to some kind of neurosis. Kevin sounds almost anxious. Mental and neurological issues are far from Yeosang’s strong suit. That doesn’t stop him from trying to piece together whatever the fuck is wrong with his captor. Or, more importantly: how the fuck to get the best of him.

 

At least the initial impression of hyperactive remains apt. It also supports Yeosang’s theory that those “blackouts” are essentially sudden onsets of sleep. The kid’s a rambling mess, and his “daddy” had even told him to “remember to eat”.  _ Something _ inhibits his inclination to rest.

 

Of course, all of this is mere conjecture. Yeosang admits he’s not in his best mindset, and his thought process is more than likely flawed.

 

_ “Wheeeep! Wheeeeep! Wheeeep-!” _ An earsplitting sound bursts into the lab.

 

Yeosang jumps reflexively, panic stabbing his heart with thousands of tiny needles at the sudden noise. He strains against his bindings, mouth gaping in need for air.

 

_ “Wheeeeeep! Wheeeeeep! Wheeeeeep! Wheee-” _

 

As abruptly as it’d started, the sound stops.

  
In its wake, Yeo attempts to recover his nerves, blinking away the tears that’d beaded up in his eyes.

 

“Shit,” A curse comes from below. Then the telltale clangs and thuds of moving metal and weight shifting. In seconds, Kevin lands on the slab platform softly. He looms over Yeosang, studying the cyborg’s face. “Sorry, boyfriend. Noticed your heartrate spiked. But… You seem okay.”

 

Yeosang merely answers with a wide-eyed look. What a comfort it is to know that the hybrid’s got a constant eye on his heartrate.

 

“Beep-beep! Beep-beep!” Much like before, a screen pops up with a call of sorts for Kevin. This time, instead of green it’s yellow, though. The hybrid groans, turning around to gesture the floating node forward. He swipes across it, and of all things, a security feed pops up.

 

Yeo’s heart lurches, and he tilts his head up as far as he possibly can. The view’s not great, but he can make out a cluster of silhouettes running down a corridor. It looks like way more than two, and the blond tail can only possibly belong to one person.

 

The cyborg’s heart leaps with joy in spite of his circumstances. They’re alive. They’re alive, in one piece. There’s only five of them, but that’s more than two. Surely the captain can be retrieved.

 

Except.

 

Wait.

 

There’s five of them on the security feed. Their presence has officially alerted Kevin and probably others across the ship. Worst of all: Yeosang can’t do a damn thing to help them. Agony toils in his chest. He wants to be happy, but he can’t. He can’t fully commit to that hope knowing just how easily their little bit of freedom can be stripped from them.

 

“Would you look at that,” Kevin leans on the work slab, his elbow edging dangerously close to the cyborg. 

 

Yeosang inches away as much as he can under the binds. An ill feeling scuttles under his skin - like there’s bugs trapped there. They skitter about restlessly, making the cyborg wish he could jump out of his own skin. 

 

“Damn. Your friends really did get out- what the fuck is that the siren?” Kevin faces the screen, throwing his hands up like he’s watching some sporting event. “Come the fuck on man- and with the good gag, too.”

 

The ever persistent sensation of anguish bubbles up again, more intensely than ever. Something so dire, so crucial and serious to Yeosang is a mere trifle to the hybrid. A sport. A passing amusement. Yeosang wishes he was in the position to be out there, risking his life. Instead, he just lays there. Trapped. Watching the other do their damndest to survive while being completely helpless himself.

 

“Shit, dude. Where are they at…” Kevin scratches his chin, the end of his tail twitching. “Looks like they’re headed our way.”

 

No.

 

No.

 

God no.

 

Fuck.

 

Part of Yeosang fantasizes about them breaking into the lab and busting him out. Maybe tying Kevin up in the various coils and cables dangling precariously from above. But he doesn’t trust Kevin. The guy’s unpredictable. Maybe he’s not aggressive, but who knows what traps he’s got rigged up in his wacko workshop. Kevin doesn’t seem strong, but he sure as hell is smart. Smarter than ATEEZ. Almost as smart as Yeosang. (Almost.) The thought of his crewmates just running into that completely unaware, defenseless, terrifies Yeo.

 

“Don’t go fucking near them,” The cyborg growls. It comes out without thought. He’d never mustered the nerve to actually speak out against the guy. What if this is what makes him hit his breaking point?

 

Kevin turns to look at Yeo over his shoulder, holding his hands up, “Whoa,  _ whoa _ .” He raises his brows. “Down, boyfriend.”

 

“Fuck you,” Yeosang’s done playing nice. He’s had it with the hybrid, arm be damned. 

 

“Well, I’m trying-”

 

“God- Fucking stop. Stop it! Let me out!” Yeosang bangs his (single) fist against the slab. Given the restriction of his movement, the sound isn’t nearly as threatening as he’d like it to be. Still, the point stands.

 

“Boyfriend, you’re a little weak-”

 

“And stop with the boyfriend, bullshit,” Yeosang seethes.

 

“Well somebody didn’t like the other pet names.”

 

“I don’t want a fucking pet name you lunatic.”

 

“Boyfriends give each other pet names, boyfriend. It’s a thing-”

  
“We are  _ not _ a thing!” The cyborg howls, frenzied.

 

“Boyfriend how could you-” Kevin pauses briefly before letting out a gasp. “Oh my god. Oh my god are we-” The edges of his lips turn up. “Are we having our first fight?”

 

Tears of frustration stream down Yeosang’s cheeks anew. Kevin is  _ impossible _ . Genuinely impossible. It’s like someone dumped out a thousand piece puzzle onto a table, only to discover that every single fucking piece is from a completely different puzzle. Hell, they’re not even all puzzle pieces.

 

“Oh my god- oh my god- don’t cry,” Kevin coos. “No, it’s okay, I forgive you.”

 

“Please,” Yeosang cries. “Please stop.”

 

“I wish I could,” A flat, sober voice says.

 

“Wh-What?”

 

“I think your friends are closing in,” Kevin turns and points to the screen again.

 

Oh, right. Them. Fuck. Yeo wishes he could warn them. But how? 

 

How?

 

“Boyfriend…” Kevin strokes his chin in thought for a few seconds. “How about we strike a deal.”

 

Yeosang sniffles, coming down from his fit, “I’m not giving you my arm.”

 

“Nah, nah,” Kevin replies, gaze still fixed on the screen.

 

“Or my legs,” His voice is hoarse at this point.

 

Kevin gives his full attention to Yeo yet again, “No, no that’s not what I want.”

 

What he wants.

 

God. Just the thought of that horrifies Yeosang. He can think of a few things the guy wants, and none of them are anything he’s willing to give. Even more awful is the knowledge that he has no power to deny the other. He swallows hard, nervous.

 

“I just have one condition,” Kevin’s tone drops dangerously. “I want…”

 

Yeosang waits for it. What’ll it be? Something creepy like a lock of hair? Or worse - a kiss? A “date”? The location of his backed up memories?

 

“A favor,” Kevin lilts.

 

A favor?

 

“What- What kind of favor?” Yeosang asks through gritted teeth, nerves wrecked. He’s in no position to say no, and he despises that.

 

Kevin shrugs, “I dunno. I’ll find you when the time comes.”

 

“What?”

 

“Sorry, let me make it clear:  _ you owe me _ .”

 

“I- I’m sorry? I what-?”

 

“Boyfriend, you owe me,” Kevin shrugs. “All I want is an IOU. Your marker.”

 

“Mhm,” Yeosang doesn’t believe it for a second.

 

“So, you accept?” Kevin quirks a brow.

 

“U-Uh, right. Y-yeah, sure,” Yeo replies hoarsely. He’s still waiting for the wool to get pulled from over his eyes. Any second, this’ll go sour, surely.

 

Kevin brightens immediately, clapping happily, “Can’t wait.” With that, he unceremoniously pushes off of the workbench and starts climbing back down. Minutes later, the metal binds slide off.

 

Yeosang’s eyes widen.

 

He refuses to trust it, to give into the hope that so greatly wants to illuminate the shroud darkening his heart. However, he does boldly move. Just a little at first. He tests his arm, then his legs. Cautiously, he props himself up on an elbow and looks around. 

 

“Don’t get up too fast,” Kevin’s voice echoes from above. “You’ll probably pass out.” The deft hybrid scales his laid out entanglement of cables and shelving all too quickly. Yeo’s heart lodges into his throat when he sees the other. 

 

Fuck.

 

Is this it? Is this the moment he snaps?

 

“You’re gonna want these,” The hybrid tosses a bundle onto the workslab. 

  
Yeosang flinches and shields himself, waiting for something to explode or for dozens of spiders to burst from the bundle. Neither of those things happen, though. Instead, the soft pile sort of sags, nearly falling off. Yeo scrambles to catch the thing which he finds out to be a pile of his clothing.

 

Kevin rambles on,“Unless you wanna meet your buddies naked. Which, like, I’m cool with, you know. Not really the jealous type...”

 

Yeosang tunes the other out. He maneuvers so he can change without giving Kevin a free show. (Not before sniffing them to assure they’re not powdered or coated in something weird.) When he’s done clumsily slipping into his clothes, he glances at the hybrid expectantly. Any second now.

 

Any second now.

 

It’s gonna happen.

 

He doesn’t know what, but he’s nervous about it. The fact that he’s clothed for it is just a minor consolation. The sagging of his armless sleeve is all too apparent.

 

“Well,” Kevin remarks. “Don’t you look handsome.”

 

“So, what is it you really want?” Yeosang tries again as he swings his legs over the workbench. Kevin was right. He does feel sort of woozy. Better take it slow.

 

“Huh?”

 

“What do you want from me? Besides an-”

 

“An IOU,” Kevin says. “I told you.”

 

Yeosang clenches his jaw, “Really? An IOU?”

 

“Just a favor. Some time in the future.”

 

“And how do you expect to collect on that?”

 

“I’ll find you,” Kevin shrugs.

 

Yeo impulsively bursts up from the table, grabbing Kevin by the collar of his tank top, “The fuck did you do to me? Did you put a tracker in- in-”

 

Oh, shit, there it is. The dizziness. Yeo stumbles back.

 

“I told you to keep it calm. You can sweep yourself all you want,” Kevin says in an irritatingly soft tone. “Now, just sit down and wait for your friends to collect you.”

 

“Yeah? An’ what about my arm?” Yeo slurs as his vision twirls and smudges.

 

“It’s sitting on the workstation down below. Just grab it on your way out,” Kevin shrugs. He grabs one of the nearby cables to get down. “It was real, boyfriend.” His voice grows distant and echoey again.

 

Yeo’s brows furrow with confusion, and he steps to the edge of the platform to get a look down below. Turns out the platform he’s on his hovering which astounds him from how solid it feels. However, he doesn’t dwell much on that. Kevin’s work station looks adequately insane. It’s huge, a long workbench that spans almost an entire wall, littered with stuff. Scratchy looking notes, tools, half-finished projects, keyboards, even game controllers and drawings. The lemur hybrid crosses the lower level to the door.

 

“W-Where are you going?” Yeosang asks unintentionally.

 

Kevin looks up from in front of the open door. The light beyond the door looks white, blinding. Unfortunately, Yeo can’t make out anything beyond it. Just pristine white. The hybrid’s slender frame appears to diminish in it, and the shadow cast behind him paints the floor like an inky, sinister reflection of the man.

 

“I’m leaving,” Kevin says matter-of-factly. “Unless you want me to hold your hand while you wait.”

 

Yeosang scowls.

 

“No, I just-”

 

“Or- Don’t tell me,” Kevin grins, “You want to introduce me to your friends?”

 

“I- It’s just- Surprising. Figured you’d be more… Loyal or something,” Yeosang grumbles, still in disbelief. It wouldn’t surprise him if Kevin pretended to leave, just to stride back in seconds later.

 

“Loyal?” Kevin laughs. “To what? The gang?”

 

Yeosang quirks an eyebrow, slightly intrigued despite himself, “Yes…?”

 

The hybrid lets out another boisterous laugh, but his tone rapidly flattens, “No. Make no mistake. The only one I’m loyal to is Lee Sangyeon.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’ll see you soon,  _ boyfriend _ ,” Kevin singsongs.

 

_ “Shiff.”  _

 

With that, the door shuts behind him.

 

Then, quiet.

 

Yeosang perches on the edge of the workslab, waiting for the hoax to be revealed. Any second now. Something’s gonna happen. Something.

 

Something.

 

Any.

 

Second.

 

Now.

 

Maybe right…

 

Now!

 

No.

 

Nothing happens (yet). Yeosang twiddles his thumbs and swings his feet.

 

Any second now.

 

Any second now.

 

He’s gonna come strolling in through that door. Probably with an awful quip and a shit-eating grin.

 

Any second now.

 

Any second now.

 

Any.

 

Second.

  
Now?

 

No.

 

Any second now turns into any minute now. And that creeps up to maybe ten minutes from now. Fifteen, perhaps? How long does Kevin plan on playing this con?

 

Yeosang glances at the projector screen that’s still up. It seems to be following the crew that’d gotten out. Nervous sweat drops down his brow. He should find them.

  
Except, when he tries to stand again, he feels wobbly. The platform’s at least ten meters up, and he’s not eager to mess his body up even more. For now, until he can maybe regain some strength, he waits.

 

Any second now, Yeosang reassures himself.

 

Any second now, they’ll be here.

 

The warmth of that hope glows in his chest, slowly melting away the anxiety, the dread.

 

Any second now, Yeosang tells himself, and he smiles.

 

* * *

 

Park Seonghwa is heavier than he looks. This fact has hammered itself over Hongjoong’s head over their dreadful journey to the lift. After tiring of the PO’s pathetic pace, Hongjoong bit the bullet and let the guy lean on him. At first he gave Joong one of his typical contemptuous glares, but halfway to the lift he caved. Hongjoong took that as a testament to just how much pain the guy’s in. He considers the nature of their surroundings a silver lining. Surely a gang that specializes in arms dealing will have ballistic mending kits in the infirmary. Hopefully. Hongjoong prays they do. If not, he might have to extract the thing himself. No doubt the PO would have a field day making petty remarks about him “playing doctor”. Also he might, like, bleed out or something due to lack of adequate professional attention. That’d be bad, too, Hongjoong guesses.

 

_ “Wheeeeep! Wheeeeeep! Wheeeeeeep!” _ “Security alert…”

 

“Oh  _ shit _ ,” Hongjoong hisses. He and Seonghwa lean heavily against the back of the elevator, waiting for it to descend. “How the fuck did they figure it out? We- We knocked everyone out, right? Like, how-”

 

“Does it matter?” Seonghwa asks hoarsely. His entire arm is a waterfall of deep, rusty red providing a stark contrast to his porcelain pale face. 

 

“R-Right,” Hongjoong backs down. Usually he’d argue. But given that the guy literally took a bullet for him, he’s willing to cut him a bit of slack. “Look, the infirmary’s, like- right by the lift. Don’t worry, you’re gonna be fine-”

 

“Did I fucking ask?” Seonghwa seethes. Okay. Fine. No reassurance. Got it. Good. Not like the captain wanted to say nice things anyways. It just seemed courteous. Honestly, he’s glad he doesn’t have to fake concern. The knots in his stomach were tied by the loss of his crew and the antagonistic gangsters around them. They’ve got nothing to do with the guy bleeding profusely on his jacket.

 

The two stand in silence, watching the floor numbers decrement until they’re on the proper level. The one with the infirmary. And where Yeosang is.

 

“Ding.” The elevator chirps, and the doors part. Hongjoong’s breath catches in his throat as he watches them open. If anyone catches sight of them, they’re finished. Noise floods into the elevator once the door’s fully open, but luckily nobody’s there to greet them.

 

“C’mon,” Hongjoong leads the other out. He can hear the other’s strained, shaky breaths, but Seonghwa doesn’t make a peep. Not one complaint comes out of him, no wail or groan or exclamation of pain. It’s almost impressive just how seriously he takes his tough act. 

 

The captain leads the PO out the door, checking left and right. Loud sirens go off, accompanied with a security message:

 

“Security alert: there has been a breach in cell blocks six-B and four-A. Stay on alert for a group of five inmates recently attained from the vessel ATEEZ. The description is as follows: one humecanis. Brown hair, blond tail, tall…”

 

Wait.

 

Five?

  
Five?

 

A humecanis?

 

Hongjoong halts, eyes wide. Is it possible that the others really got out? He feels a spark of excitement at the idea. But they’re far from in the clear. He’s not positive where the others are, but the attention seems to be away from their current locale. He just begs whatever higher powers there are to keep them safe. If they can just hold out a little bit longer, they might make it out yet.

 

At least, most of them.

 

Prettyboy doesn’t look so good.

 

“Just a little further,” Hongjoong mutters more to himself than Seonghwa, really. Everything looks so alike, he’s half afraid he’d turned the wrong way. Luckily, his short-term memory and hastily drawn map prove adequate, and soon he’s coming up to a frosted glass door marked with an indicative symbol.

 

The infirmary. 

 

“In here,” Hongjoong ushers the other through the door. The second it shuts behind them, everything feels quieter. The security bulletin is nothing but a muffled reverberation humming through the walls.

 

The Anaconda’s infirmary looks eerily similar to ATEEZ’s. It’s like a larger version, with half a dozen tables instead of one. Aside from that, it has all the same built-in shelves and cabinets. Hongjoong just hopes the contents aren’t the same. He guides Seonghwa over to a nearby table.

 

“Here, try and get up on-”

  
_ “Thud.” _ Seonghwa drops onto the ground without warning.

 

“Or the ground. The ground’s good, too,” Hongjoong breathes out nervously. “You, just, um- Just stay th-”

 

“Find the thing,” Seonghwa demands gruffly. He’d probably give Hongjoong a dirty look, too, if only he had the energy.

 

“R-Right. The thing. The thing…” Hongjoong starts rifling through the shelves and cabinets. He throws drawers open and stick his head in any cabinet he can reach. There’s all sorts of stuff stocking the cupboards:

 

Tranquilizers, pain-killers, unmarked vials. Syringes, gauze, bandages of every size and material Hongjoong could think of (and many he wouldn’t think of). Fever-reducers and gastrointestinal medicines. Sutures and Needles and injections and IV bags with clear liquid.

 

“It- It’s a box,” Seonghwa huffs out from his spot on the ground.

 

Joong briefly glances at the other, and his heart drops. The guy’s almost as white as walls, and blood is starting to pool on the ground under him.

 

“O-Oh. Right. Okay,” Hongjoong responds politely. Once again, he’d normally tell the other to fuck off because there’s probably hundreds of boxes in the infirmary. But the whole “he took a bullet for me” thing comes up again, and he decides against it. The guy still has a firearm and in his current, cranky state he might just opt to spend his last moments bringing Joong down with him.

 

“Box, box…” Hongjoong mumbles to himself as he searches for a box. At least it rules out things like needles or round bandages. Hongjoong starts pulling things that he thinks might be useful just for the sake of it. He grabs disinfectants and cleansing wipes, along with bandages and an anti-inflammatory pain killer. 

 

All the while, Joong murmurs to himself,“Okay. Anti-venom kit- why the fuck would they have these? Okay, um… No, no, no… Burn kit. Burn kit. Burn aid… Oh- Oh, shit! Found it!” He grabs a box marked: “Ballistic Bullet Extraction Kit” and waves it triumphantly.

 

Seonghwa doesn’t look impressed. He barely looks conscious. 

 

“Jus’ jus’ bring it here,” The PO reaches his free hand toward the approaching captain.

 

“Of course I’m gonna bring it,” Hongjoong kneels down next to Seonghwa, dumping his load of stuff. “Okay, lemme get a look at this.”

  
“Wha-?” Seonghwa’s brows furrow with confusion.

 

“I’m gonna start by cleaning it,” Joong reaches for the cleansing wipes first. There’s a lot of blood, and he can hardly see the actual wound itself. Without the metal butt of the bullet sticking out, he’d have no idea where it is.

 

“I… I can do it m’self,” Seonghwa protests, pawing at the sleeve of wipes in Joong’s hand.

 

“I- What?” Hongjoong nearly guffaws.

 

“Lemme… Myself. Jus’ go.”

 

“Uh- No.”

 

“I don’t… I don’t need you.”

 

Hongjoong furrows his brows, “Yes, you do.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“You can barely walk,” Hongjoong ignores the other’s resistance. He pushes up the short, black sleeve of the PO’s shirt and starts wiping fervently.

 

“ _ Fuck- _ ” Seonghwa seizes from the sting of alcohol against his skin. He grits his teeth and throws his head back. 

 

“Don’t move too much, you’re gonna make it worse,” Hongjoong instructs. Once the majority of the arm is clean, he grabs another wipe and works more delicately around the wound.

 

“Ffff- I can… Myself.”

 

“I’m not just gonna leave you to bleed out.”

 

“I can- with the- the things. Just go.”

 

“Like you could do it. You can barely walk straight,” Hongjoong squints, leaning in as he delicately wipes at the edges of the wound. His stomach tosses a bit. He’s never exactly been one for gore, and being this close to an open wound makes him dizzy. Stubbornly, the captain swallows down the sick sensation.

 

Joong grabs the bullet kit and tears it open. It gets quiet as Hongjoong busies himself with the instructions. There’s the low buzz of machinery and the dull sound of the security alert outside. Aside from that, it feels like they’re on a completely different ship. Occasionally, the PO lets out an exceptionally shaky breath, and Hongjoong switches his attention to the other. Any time their eyes meet, neither can bear it too long, and their pupils flit away skittishly.

 

The bullet extraction kit comes with the extractor - a little one-use machine - along with a few different gels. The extractor looks like a tiny, square vacuum. There’s a clear chamber toward the rear - that’s where the bullet will go - and the sucking apparatus is toward the front. Apparently, it’s even equipped with a little laser that cauterizes the wound after. Even though it seems straightforward, it still intimidates the fuck out of the captain who’d barely even seen metal bullets.

 

“Oh, it says here you should, um, apply the numbing gel first.”

 

“No time,” Seonghwa grunts raggedly.

 

“Uh- It’s essentially a magnet-vacuum thing. It’s gonna hurt, plus the cauterize-”

 

“Don’t care. Jus’ give me,” The pompous fucker actually swipes at Hongjoong. His attempt at stealing the extractor away is pathetic, and Joong moves it out of reach with ease.

 

“I told you, you shouldn’t be doing this. Stop being so difficult,” The captain glowers at the other.

 

“Did you wanna be a doctor or somethin’?” Seonghwa slurs.

 

“What- No?”

 

“Then why the fuck you insist on doin’ this? Just gimme.”

 

“No.”

 

“Jus’- Jus’ leave me to do it. I’ll be fine.”

 

“No.”

 

“I’m- Will be okay. Jus’ han’ it over-”

 

“No.”

 

“Why are you doing this?”

  
“Because you’ll probably bleed out or pass out doing it.”

 

“So what?”

 

“What do you mean so what?”

 

“You hate me.”

 

For some reason, Hongjoong’s taken aback by that. It’s not wrong, but hearing it put out so bluntly makes him feel strangely affronted. Like, yes, of course he hates Seonghwa. This is a secret to nobody. But it’s not like he needs to shout it from the rooftops, either. Hate is such a strong word, it implies that Hongjoong gives the other much more regard than he should. Than he  _ does _ .

 

“So, what? That means I wanna watch you bleed out in front of me?”

 

“It means you should… You should be- be fine leavin’ me.”

 

Hongjoong’s cleaned up the area well enough, and he starts to nervously line up the extractor to the wound, “We made a deal. I gave you my word. We pinky swore and everything. Wait-”

 

“Hm?”

 

“This is probably gonna hurt, hold on,” Hongjoong realizes aloud. He takes a second to leave his post and search the infirmary again. He grabs a sort of rubbery feeling ball and holds it up to Seonghwa’s lips. “Here. So you don’t bite your tongue off.”

 

“Are you seri-” Joong doesn’t let the other finish, stuffing the thing in.

 

“Also so you shut the hell up,” The captain smirks. “Now close your eyes. I’m gonna count down from five- Ten? Hm… Five. And then I’m gonna press the button.”

 

Seonghwa scowls at Hongjoong but doesn’t try to speak. 

 

“Okay,” Hongjoong nibbles on his lower lip worriedly. He’s not sure why he’s the one nervous. He’s not the one who’s getting a bullet sucked out of him. Still, that doesn’t quite keep away the fear of him entirely fucking it up. If he maims the PO, he will never hear the end of it. “Five…” 

 

He feels the petty officer tense beneath him. The guy tries to play it cool, but his nerves show in his body.

 

“Four…”

 

Hongjoong presses the extractor flush, making sure the bullet is centered.

 

“Three…” He squints, checking through the clear back end to assure the bullet’s lined up.

 

“Two…” He sets a hand on the PO’s thigh. He’s got a feeling the guy’s gonna jump up. That could risk breaking the seal between the extractor and skin. 

 

“One.”

 

Hongjoong holds his breath as he presses the button. The process is instantaneous.

  
“Shiiink!” “MMnnnnhgghhh!”

 

A sharp noise sounds out of the little thing, almost entirely overwhelmed by Seonghwa’s strangled groan. Just as Joong had predicted, the guy flinches, back arching and hips lurching. The platinum blond squeezes his eyes shut, and tears stream down his face. His chest heaves as the extractor glows brilliant white.

 

That’s the cauterization, probably.

 

God, just the thought of a literal laser melting and melding skin makes Hongjoong feel weak. 

 

_ “Clink.” “Beep-beep.” _ The little extractor chirps when the bullet unloads into its little storage capsule. Seeing the bloodied lump of lead makes Hongjoong cringe, and he tosses the extractor away with haste.

 

Seonghwa’s body shudders as he comes down from the peak of pain. The drool-covered rubber gag drops from his mouth limply, and he pants, eyes still bleary from the pain. Hongjoong tries not to focus on that, instead checking the wound (when he’s done being too spooked by it). 

 

The extractor had done a bangup job. It’s ugly (and smells more than Joong anticipated it would). Dark, melted flesh splotches the originally pristine skin of his bicep. The skin’s slightly bloodstained, but Hongjoong managed to get the bulk of the gushing liquid. It looks… Okay. He’s going to be okay.

 

Hongjoong heaves a sigh of relief. The feeling floods his veins, soothing over a lot of his nerves. 

 

Then, it occurs to him that he’s relieved because Petty Officer Prettyboy is okay. The realization severly harshes his buzz. He promptly moves his focus to the myriad gels that had been in the kit. There are more pressing things to work on, obviously. Like deciphering which of the included gels he needs to slather on now. 

 

Seonghwa appears dazed, but oddly enough, color is returning to his face. Even so, he’s lost blood, and neither of them have had anything to eat or drink for hours. He’s going to be weak. It won’t be much longer, though. The PO’s tough - that’s what makes him such a massive pain in the ass. He’ll hang in there if only out of spite. He has to. Hongjoong’s decided: Park Seonghwa is not allowed to die by anyone’s hand but his own.

 

“You okay?” Hongjoong asks. The words just sort of come out, really. He’s not sure where they came from. He’s not actually concerned. Obviously, the guy’s fine. He should’ve just left it at that.

 

Seonghwa closes his mouth and nods his head in Joong’s direction. There’s some life back in his eyes, but now he looks incredibly tired. Their exploits start taking a toll on even the captain. He glances at his own arm, finally remembering that he’d gotten grazed, too. That’s an easy fix, though, and he pushes the thought aside.

 

“I could’ve done it myself,” The PO croaks.

 

“You’d have probably moved and fucked it up,” Hongjoong replies.

 

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, moving onto the next topic, “Where to next?” He moves to get up.

 

Hongjoong holds him down, one hand on the thigh the other on a shoulder, “Yeah- I don’t think so.”

 

“The wound is mended.”

 

“Doesn’t mean  _ you _ are.”

 

“I will be fine.”

 

“You will not be fine.”

 

“Then- Then leave me.”

 

“No.” 

 

“What? Why not? You despise me.”

 

“We made a deal. Maybe that doesn’t mean shit for people like you, but where I’m from your word is all you have. You take that shit seriously.”

 

Seonghwa rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. Oh, good. He’s feeling better.

 

Hongjoong leers, “You know what, at this point I’m just staying to spite you.”

 

“Is that why your hand is still creeping up my leg, too?”

 

“Wh- It is not  _ creeping _ ,” Hongjoong snatches his hands back quickly, like he’s on fire. “I had to keep you from moving. Though you seem  _ fine _ now.”

 

“Well  _ thank you _ for the prognosis  _ Dr. Kim _ ,” Seonghwa spits back.

 

“Wow. Being quiet for the past hour must’ve really killed you. Any other shitty jokes you’d like to let out?” Hongjoong leans back and crosses his arms. “I’ve got time.”

 

“None quite as funny as your existence, I imagine.”

 

“Nice,” The two exchange facetious, saccharine grins.

 

The PO heaves a sigh,“As fun as exchanging niceties is, I think we’d both like to get a move on, so-” He stands up and immediately staggers.

 

“Hey, whoa, whoa- steady,” Hongjoong jumps onto his feet to stop the other from keeling over and concussing himself. The PO leans heavily against the nearest examination table, dazedness falling over his face. 

 

“Steady, steady,” Hongjoong murmurs as he helps ease the other onto the table. When Seonghwa appears settled, the captain repeats his assertion, “I told you not to move.”

 

“Mmkay, you get this one, Kim,” Seonghwa responds windedly. He takes a brief few moments to collect himself. “I thought you were in a… In a rush. Get back to your ‘family’ ‘n all that.”

 

“Yeah, well, it can wait a few,” Hongjoong shrugs, pursing his lips with displeasure. “You’re no use to me unconscious.”

 

“Hm,” The PO laughs wryly. “And here I thought you cared  _ deeply _ about me as a person.”

 

“Yeah it really keeps me up at night, thinking about you,” Joong returns sarcastically. When he doesn’t get an immediate response, the awkwardness of the implication actually dawns on him. Heat flushes his face and the tips of his ears, and he shuffles his weight from one foot to the next uncomfortably.

 

Silence bubbles up between them. In spite of everything, Hongjoong’s traiterous mind wonders: what does he think of what had just been said? The lack of an unwelcome witticism implies he might’ve taken it too seriously. On top of everything, Joong really doesn’t want the PO to get delusions of attraction.

 

The captain bravely ventures a glimpse at the PO. He expects scorn, condescension or even ager. Instead, he sees a man passed out, limbs splayed across the exam table like a ragdoll, head lolled to the side.

 

A physical bullet extracted and a figurative one dodged. Thank fucking god.

 

“I’ll give you fifteen minutes, petty officer,” Hongjoong wrings a hand over his face, feeling exhaustion seep into his body, too.

 

Hongjoong has to admit. The guy’s kinda cute when he’s asleep. He can’t badmouth the captain while unconscious which adds  _ major _ points to attractiveness. His hair’s genuinely mussed at this point, and his clothing’s got creases. It’s like a completely different person is snoozing away on the exam table; an authentic, real human being stepped in to take the place of the ice robot.

 

Joong isn’t sure what inclines him, but he straightens the other up a bit. He sets the other’s legs straight on the table and even crosses his arms over his chest. Seeing how corpsey it makes the PO look, Joong uncrosses his arms and instead puts them at his side. He can’t help noticing the little goosebumps dotting the guy’s skin and throws his jacket over the other haphazardly. Good. He’s set.

 

Hongjoong decides to spend the allotted quarter hour by the door, keeping watch. He can still hear the security bulletin echoing faintly on the other side of the door. Just thinking of his crew out there, fighting, worries him. 

 

But it also fills him with strength. It reminds him that he, too, must fight. He keeps an eye on the passed out petty officer, waiting for that quarter hour to conclude.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Rise and shine, princess,” Hongjoong murmurs. He estimates that fifteen minutes or so had passed. It’s very likely it’s been less, though. There’s something excruciating about passing the time when one’s in wait. After getting too antsy by the door, the scorching sting of his own wound reminded him he needed some tending.

 

He paced the room for awhile, eyes never leaving the frosted glass door. The security alarms lessened in frequency. Hongjoong’s not positive if that’s a good sign or a bad sign. Perhaps it’s something automatic. Or perhaps the message is less urgent. Why, though? Have they been caught? Hurt?

 

The captain wrestled with the idea of bolting. He can hardly breathe thinking about what’s become of his crew. He has to know. Surely the PO won’t be too miffed if he wakes up alone. Hell, he’d probably be relieved. Would he get found? Or would he rouse before they come for him? 

 

Joong knows he sure as hell would be relieved. Playing nice with the guy sends spiders crawling under his skin. He feels hyperaware of the other’s presence. Every sudden movement makes Hongjoong internally lurch. Even the mere act of standing in the other’s proximity makes him uncomfortable. The air between them is thick, hard to breathe in, and there’s a sort of needling heat coming off of him. It’s like he’s got some invisible, barbed barrier around him. The one consolation is that the guy is actually competent. He’s far from dead weight. Or, at least, was. Now he’s just…

 

Sleepy.

 

“Mn…” A hoarse groan leaves the dazed petty officer. His face scrunches with displeasure, and another ragged breath leaves his lips. For once, they don’t look all plush and tinted. They’re chapped and pallid, practically blending in with the rest of his skin. How far the mighty fall. The sight is a far departure from the prim, frosty blackcoat he’d seen in the questioning room weeks ago. The petty officer - well, can he even be called that now? Where he is? In his current state?

 

Seonghwa looks rather pitiful as he is now - tossing on an examination table in the guts of a repurposed warship. Though his eyes open briefly, they look bleary, glossed over with tears and confusion. Tears fall, and the blond gapes, head gaze darting around restlessly. His breathing grows rapid and ragged, alarming the captain.

 

“Wh-!” Seonghwa jolts, gasping. Apparently, the sharp intake of breath pains him, and his mouth clamps closed to keep the sound at bay. His body writhes on the table, threatening to upend him.

 

“Wh- Hey, hey, s-steady, officer,” Hongjoong rushes to hold the other down before he throws himself off of the damn slab. “Shit- Calm down, you’re gonna pass out again with the way you’re breathing.”

  
Seonghwa merely responds with a wide-eyed look as his chest rapidly heaves with panicked breath.

 

“I said settle down, officer,” Hongjoong says, hands firmly planted on the other’s shoulders.

 

“Wh- Wha’s going on?” The blond croaks.

 

“Shit- What did you get hit on the head, too?”

 

“Why are you-” Seonghwa looks around confusedly, “-where are we? Where did you take me?”

 

“Hey- Settle down, stop- stop moving your wound just got sealed u-”

 

“Wait- I- I was shot. I was shot, I-” Seonghwa flails again, and Hongjoong has to throw himself on top of the other just to keep him from diving onto the floor.

 

“ _ Seonghwa _ ! It’s okay, it’s okay,” He barks. “Seonghwa- settle down. It’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Hongjoong.”

 

Finally, the other stops. Whatever wave of madness had come over him subsides. Slowly, he flattens himself on the exam table again and steadies his breathing. The blond inspects his surroundings more calmly, eyes eventually fixating on his chest.

 

Squinting, he mutters, “...Little.”

 

“Huh?” Joong grunts dumbly.

 

“Your hands are… Little,” Seonghwa remarks. “Explains a lot.”

 

His hands?

 

Hongjoong looks down at them and - to his horror - they’re still planted on the PO’s broad shoulders. He yanks them off like he’d been burnt by the contact. Hell, it practically feels like he had been. By reflex, he shakes them out as his ears flush from embarrassment.

 

“My punches seemed to work alright on you,” Hongjoong fires back, crossing his arms.

 

“Hm,” Seonghwa simply grunts. He starts to sit up, and his face squashes with pain once more.

 

Joong feels a secondhand pang himself. He takes a peek at the newly mended skin. Shiny scar tissue stretches over the once seeping wound like a flesh bandage. A genuine blemish on the blond’s otherwise flawless body. One he’ll sure as hell remember, too. Hongjoong wonders how long it’ll last. He doesn’t know much about bullet mending kits - or bullet wounds in general - but he’s fairly certain that scar will stay with Seonghwa for awhile. Maybe forever. 

 

It makes the captain observe his own wound (though he feels silly when he remembers it’s covered). Though a mere graze, it’s still hot lead ripping through his skin. He’ll probably get a mark of his own. A tear to accompany the rainbow of bruising he’d given himself in the cell.

 

How quaint it feels to bear a reminder of their forced cooperation. Every time he looks at it, he’ll always remember that one time Petty Officer Park took a bullet for him.

 

No.

 

That one time Park Seonghwa took a bullet for him.

 

The emotion elicited by the thought isn’t quite definable. It feels akin to illness - a sort of ick wading through his guts. He supposes he  _ doesn’t want _ to remember the brief period of their survival-driven partnership. In truth he’d been avoiding conscious thought about it the entire time. His heart likes to wedge itself up in his throat whenever it so much as crosses his mind.

 

“Can you walk?” Hongjoong asks gruffly, trying to shove his contemplations aside.

 

“I didn’t get shot in the leg,” Seonghwa responds condescendingly.

 

Alright. He’s feeling better.

 

“What about the pain? You think you can run if you need to? There’s plenty of painkillers, if you need them,” The captain presses.

 

“You need to stop,” The blond frowns. He swings his legs over the side of the table.

 

Joong glares at him, “Stop what?”

 

“Fussing.”

 

“Stop fussing? Do you not see where we are?”

 

“Over me.”

 

“I- What?”

 

“Stop pretending to give a shit. It’s not a good look on you. Of course, neither is the mullet-”

 

“Wha-? No, I- I’m not pretending to care about you,” Hongjoong scoffs. “I- I don’t give shit about you. It’s just- I mean, you’re a human. Sort of. Isn’t it common decency to care about other people?”

 

“You despise me,” Seonghwa replies. God, his gaze. It’s truly chilling when he focuses it just so. Like thousands of needle sharp icicles piercing right through the skin. But what for?

 

Hongjoong answers, “Doesn’t matter how much you hate someone. Gotta help those who need it no matter what. Isn’t that what they’re supposed to teach you in the academy?” The captain braves returning the other’s gaze with eye contact. “Isn’t that why you joined?”

 

_ Is it _ why he joined? 

 

The question comes from an authentic place.

 

Hongjoong sure as fuck doesn’t know. It’s not that he wants to know Park Seonghwa’s dreams and desires or anything. But, he can’t help being curious. Prettyboy seems fairly sharp. He probably could’ve done lots of stuff. So why the blackcoat life? Typically people who take up those kinds of roles want two things: to help or to have prestige.

  
So which one is he?

 

For the quickest of instants, those azure eyes go wide. Shock maybe. He presses his cracked lips together before finally answering:

 

“Fair.”

 

So he joined to help people. Allegedly. Apparently his idea of helping the galaxy is accusing innocent people of crimes and locking them up without the due process he preaches about. But that’s a tangent for another time. Joong’s far too distracted by the fact that the guy actually agreed.

 

A concession. He got a  _ concession _ . Not a witticism or cute crack at his intelligence - a concession. The one time Seonghwa admits Hongjoong is right - and the captain can’t even enjoy it. It’s a damn shame, really. He’d make note to enjoy it later, but in truth he’d rather forget the experience entirely. One day, he’ll sit around the table with his crew and laugh about this. However, for that day to come, he needs to find them and get the hell out. He hasn’t even finished step one.

 

“Well, you’re no help to anyone locked up in some gangster warship,” Hongjoong nods to the door.

 

“I’m no-” The blond wheezes. “Locked up like you’ve had me for weeks now?”

 

Hongjoong furrows his brows, “We had every intention of releasing you.”

 

“Did you? Because I certainly wasn’t looped in on that plan,” Seonghwa responds wryly. “As far as I knew, I was never getting out.”

 

The captain rolls his eyes, “You really think I liked keeping you down there? Trust me, I had half a mind to throw you out the airlock - more than once.”

 

“How gracious of you not to send me into the vacuum of space. When did you plan on letting me go? In weeks? Months? Or were you just waiting to get tired of antagonizing your blackcoat pet?”

 

“Okay you- stop acting like I kept you for my amusement. I kept you  _ for the safety of my crew _ . A pet- fuck’s sake-”

 

“Right, I forgot. You wouldn’t need a pet because you already have one.”

 

“I-” Hongjoong bristles - because he always bristles - at the implication toward Yunho. Racist bastard. Fuck. Anger singes his insides, but he stubbornly stamps it down, “ _ Why  _ do you do that?”

 

“Do what? Point out the truth? I understand that must be difficult

 

“Oh fuck off, like you don’t know Yunho’s a human being.”

 

“Technically, he’s a humecanis.”

 

“God- Why are you-?” The captain lets out a loud huff. “Why are you so- so-?!” He clutches his fists because he doesn’t know what else to do. The guy had just come to, knocking him out again would probably scramble his brains even more than they are already. Then again, considering the way he’s speaking, maybe it’s not scrambled enough. 

 

Hongjoong shakes away the dreamy images of jumping the other and punching him.

 

“So  _ right _ ?” Seonghwa asks with a quirked brow.

 

The dreamy images immediately come back.

 

“So- Fuck, nevermind,” Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s like all the dammed up exhaustion he’d kept at bay is starting to leak through the cracks. It comes over his body in a wave, and he’s tempted to just splay out on an exam table himself for a second. The sweet, sweet nothingness of sleep is a heavily favorable alternative to what he’s dealing with now. 

 

At first, Hongjoong thought that Petty Officer Prettyboy genuinely believed all the bullshit passing his lips. However, as time’s gone on he occasionally - just very, very,  _ very  _ occasionally - gets a glimpse of something else. Those cold, unfeeling eyes thaw slightly, revealing the tiniest trickle of authenticity. Now, it bothers the shit out of him. He starts to wonder: does he actually believe the shit he’s saying, or is he just being contrarian shithead for the sake of pressing buttons? And if he is - why? Why?

 

“Whatever,” Hongjoong murmurs, more to himself than the other, “Whatever. You’re not worth it.”

 

“So you’ve told me,” Seonghwa responds, hopping off of the table.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m just the faceless, insignificant blackcoat they didn’t care enough about to even look for, right?” Seonghwa says, bitterness dripping from his tongue acridly. “The one whose- whose loved ones are better off without him.” Surely that last part was intended to match the former in acerbity. But instead, he falters. That break betrays yet another sliver of actual emotion. 

 

“I…” Hongjoong studies the other. His stance is locked up tight: arms crossed over his torso, eyes down, shoulders uncharacteristically hunched. “I’m sorry.”

 

Wait.

 

He  _ what _ ?

 

Hongjoong didn’t mean to say that. Really, he didn’t. The words just sort of jumped out of their own volition. They’re the type of words he’d say to someone actually worth apologizing to. But Seonghwa? Not  _ him _ . Except, one really can’t take back an apology - can they? Plus, though he would never admit it aloud, he feels what he’d said was out of line. He wouldn’t dream of saying stuff like that to anyone else in the entire universe. It’s just that the petty officer is a special case. Every time the captain speaks to him, they bare their tongues like swords. Sparks fly upon the collision of wills until they either exhaust themselves or one eventually concedes.

 

“Wha…?” Seonghwa’s mouth drops open dumbly. He looks just about as shocked as Hongjoong feels.

 

The captain coughs awkwardly, scrambling to play it off like he’d meant to apologize, “I- I said I’m sorry.” Typically he doesn’t give enough of a shit to be “the bigger man” in any situation. However, it seems like he’d accidentally stepped on that platform in this case. So, he runs with it. “That was out of line.” It’s not exactly a lie, he thinks to himself.

 

“I- Uh,” The PO’s tensity relaxes a bit, and he hesitantly tries to meet the captain’s eyes.

 

Hongjoong’s guts lurch; he’s not sure he’s quite ready for that level of civility. On the contrary, he’s also not about to back down. He shyly meets the other’s gaze as well.

 

“While I, uh, I  _ highly  _ doubt you’re capable of emotion-” Gotta add some sort of insult in there, just to remind the PO that an apology doesn’t mean they’re, like, buddies or anything “-I imagine those around you are. You’ll meet them soon, per our agreement. I’m… I’m sure they miss you.”

 

They’re probably still holding out hope for him.

 

Fuck.

  
That thought snuck in real quick, dredging up an ugly mess of guilt. The weight piles onto the already hefty pressure on the captain’s gut. 

 

Quiet rolls in like a thick fog. It floats between the two heavily, clogging up the air of the infirmary. It takes a few seconds longer than it should for Hongjoong to realize the two’d been engaged in an unannounced staring match. Their gazes matched a minute ago, but they never left - even after Hongjoong stopped speaking.

 

Seonghwa looks shocked. Not in an animated way, but in his own, subdued display. Those bright blues are blown big and wide. There’s terror in there, Hongjoong thinks. But for what? What’s he got to be afraid of? Joong’s usually not too interested in the blond’s thoughts, but now he can’t stop wondering:

 

What’s on his mind?

 

“A brother, mom and dad,” The blond murmurs.

 

“Hm?”

 

Seonghwa coughs awkwardly, “My loved ones. I- I have an older brother. Mom and dad, too. I- I understand that yours- yours passed. I…” His voice drops in volume. It’s so soft that Hongjoong can scarcely make out the syllables. “Given that you’ve made an apology, I suppose I owe one as well: I am sorry for- for making inappropriate remarks about the passing of your loved ones.”

 

Joong narrows his eyes dubiously. Is he sorry? Really?

 

The other, apparently sensing the captain’s disbelief, frowns, “I- I mean it. Not- Not what I said before about- well, there was your mother- I-” The level of nerves are unprecedented, making Hongjoong believe that - fuck - the guy’s actually being serious. “I can’t imagine coping with the loss of my family. Using the loss of yours as a blow against your character was - as you put it - out of line.”

 

Well that’s.

 

That’s something.

 

Nice?

 

Is it nice? 

 

Hongjoong isn’t sure if it’s nice. It’s not mean, which confuses Joong. Because Seonghwa is mean. This is very, very out of character for the blond-haired blue-eyed prick Joong knows too well. The captain ventures a glance at the other, but a look in those deep azure eyes don’t really grant much insight.

 

Stress comes off of the PO in such a way that it’s almost tangible. Sensing it makes Hongjoong’s insides squirm, and he rushes to correct the strange state they’d fallen into.

 

“Y-You’re alright to walk?” He coughs out.

 

Seonghwa nods. 

 

“Right,” Joong mutters. He nods to the door, and the other follows as he crosses back from whence they came.

 

Crossing the threshold brings them back into the thick of it. The sirens and thick air of panic that comes with them permeates the corridors. Joong hangs a right out the door and starts pacing as fast as possible. The hall is empty for now. He can’t bank on it being so for long, though. No doubt with the fuss they’ve raised, Stray Boyz will be prowling the halls.

 

Seonghwa’s gait is uneven, but his walking is better which is a plus. The two stick to the stuff that’s been working so far: silence, moving against the walls and checking corners before turning. The permanent marker staining Seonghwa’s skin has gotten distorted from the sweat and strain, but the shoddy rendering of the gangster stronghold remains mostly legible. 

 

After the lift, there’s more corners - more little nooks and crannies for pursuers to be hiding. They’ll have to be more careful than ever to reach Yeosang undetected. Hongjoong’s only consolation is that they seem to have lost their tails.

 

He waves around a corner, signalling that it’s clear to Seonghwa who trails behind. When they’re not bickering, they manage to work decently enough. Surprisingly, they understand meanings without verbalizing things. It’s a massive relief to Joong for lots of reasons.

 

Even with the functioning alliance, Hongjoong counts down the seconds until he finally reunites with one of his crew. The questions have been plaguing him all day (or night, he can’t tell anymore):

 

Is Yunho okay?

 

Have they respected his personal space? Have they touched his tail?

 

What about San?

 

They’re not abusing him, are they? Exploiting his gifts?

 

How have they dealt with Jongho? Is he still in a drug coma?

 

Is Mingi scared- wait, no, of course he’s scared. But is he okay? Relatively? Will he be okay, or has the fear paralyzed him?

 

Has Wooyoung kept a steady head or has he run his mouth and gotten punished?

 

And what about Yeosang?

 

Hongjoong nearly forgets the presence of the man behind him as the venture further toward Yeosang’s holding. All he can think about is ATEEZ’s crew. God, he hopes they’re okay.

 

* * *

 

_ “-wheeeeee! Wheeeeee! Wheeeeee!”  _ Alarms drone loudly across the Stray Boyz flagship.

 

“Where do they keep coming from?” Jongho groans after kicking another thug aside. They seem to travel in packs for the most part. It’s probably the smartest maneuver Wooyoung has seen the lot display so far. While they’re canny in business, they clearly never prepared their men for a threat on their own turf. Then again, Wooyoung’s not entirely certain one can prepare for the likes of the Choi duo: Jongho and San. Honestly, the rest of them are probably dead weight to those two. If not for his steady hand and decent aim, Woo would feel completely useless. Shit, even with them, he’s still hesitant. 

 

The gun he’d lifted from Changbin was of the ballistic nature. Though he knows he really shouldn’t, he feels guilty shooting them. Most of them are just kids, really. Fuckups who wandered a bit too far from home and wanted to be a part of something. Maybe they never had a home at all - or the one they did have felt more akin to a prison. They’re just lost boys who found solace in the company of others like them.

 

Not unlike ATEEZ.

 

One misfire could put an end to one of those short lives, and Wooyoung can’t handle even the thought of it.

 

“Maybe they perform mitosis,” Mingi lets out a joke as he trots besides the others. 

 

“Huh-? Your toes? A-are your toes okay? Are they hurt-?!”

 

“Oh, Yunho,” Jongho lets out a chuckle. “Thank you for existing.”

 

“What?” The canis pouts.

 

“I’ll explain later,” Mingi replies.

 

In spite of everything, the crew keeps their heads high and moods light. Wooyoung feels eternally grateful for that. First of all: it makes his job as self-appointed leader slash firstmate easier. Secondly: it helps keep him sane. Between the skirmishes and brawls, there’s always someone cracking a quick joke. A little something to stave off the creeping sensation of dread that comes with the passage of time in the stronghold. Every moment passed is a moment in which Yeosang or Hongjoong could be getting tortured or maimed. God knows. With Hongjoong in the company of the PO and Yeosang in some blacked out room, it’s easy to let paranoia seep in. 

 

“-found ‘em!” A voice bellows to the left. The crew’s gaze collectively darts to their side. Wooyoung bites his lip nervously. The groups are getting bigger. Now it’s half a dozen people barking curses and threats at them. They’re learning.

 

ATEEZ is in the home stretch. Yeosang’s just a few more hallways down. Wooyoung wishes they could just run straight past the thugs and find their crewmate. Maybe if he keeps running in the direction they need to go, the gangsters will ignore them. Perhaps some sort of nonverbal truce could happen. A sort of “I don’t bother you, you don’t bother me” thing.

 

_ “Zzzzt-!” “Bang-bang!” _

 

Apparently, their new friends don’t seem to agree. 

 

“Ohgod-!” Mingi yelps, ducking down. Wooyoung wants to kick the guy’s ass. Curling up on the ground is exactly the opposite of what they should be doing. They need to run. Luckily, Yunho encourages the other to move with much less harsh words.

 

“C’mon,” The canis urges his (not)majesty up. 

 

_ “Zzzz-t!” “Bang-bang!” “Zzzt-!”  _ A flash of light zips right by Wooyoung’s right cheek. For that brief instant, heat just barely pricks his face in passing, until the near-miss eventually fizzles out in the distance.

 

Shit.

  
Wooyoung - who’d been at point - glances behind him. Yunho’s bringing up the rear with Mingi, but their long strides help them recover the distance quickly. San and Jongho are both straggling a bit, watching over their shoulders. Meters behind them are their new friends, keen on chasing the crew, apparently. More hollers echo through the hallways, so loud that not even the alarms going off quite drown them out. 

 

_ “Bang-!” “Zzzt-! Zzzzzt-!” _

 

Another few bolts and bullets fly by. Fuck. Wooyoung’s heart stops as he watches the projectiles fly by. Those hadn’t been aimed at him. They were aimed at Jongho and San. Fuck.

 

Wooyoung slows himself considerably to the siren and youngest’s pace. He shouts ahead, “Mingi, Yunho, keep going!”

 

The canis turns to glance over his shoulder with wide eyes. His tail remains dipped low between his legs, and his usually sunny demeanor is completely clouded with terror. Still, he has the wits about him to understand and nods in doing so. Wrapping his hand around Mingi’s wrist, he guides the other further forward.

 

Woo nods to the two beside him, “You two, ahead!”

 

“I- What?! Lemme help. We can take these guys out,” Jongho replies.

 

“We can’t exactly surprise them,” Wooyoung tells the other. San doesn’t verbally protest, however his furrowed brows and downturned lips speak volumes. Though sirens are known for their voices, that one’s certainly fluent in body language.

 

Jongho resists, “We- We can think of somethi-”

 

_ “Bang!” “Zzzt!” _

 

Another bolt zooms past, skimming right by Jongho’s ear. He winces, and panic starts setting into his features. With wide eyes, he regards Woo again.

  
“What’s your plan?”

 

“I’ll distract them,” Wooyoung says, peeking over his shoulder. All six of them persistantly give chase. 

 

“I’ll help,” San adds all of a sudden. Wooyoung blinks, surprised at the siren’s abrupt decision to speak. Jongho seems to accept the answer and picks up his pace to catch up with the tall ones. 

 

“Think they’ll hear you over the alarms?” Woo asks San.

 

The siren presses his lips together, “They ought to. You can block your ears.” His tone is still terse and his words sparing.

 

About a million apologies flood Wooyoung’s mind, but he impresses upon himself: later. Woo doesn’t have time to apologize or converse or attempt to mend whatever rifts he’d caused between them with his stupid, fat mouth. No matter how badly he wants to. Right now, there are much, much more pressing things at hand.

 

Woo nods affirmitively, opting to keep it strictly professional,“R-Right, I’ll um-”

 

“Now,” San insists. He slows his pace considerably and takes a deep breath. 

 

Wooyoung presses his hands over his ears and looks to the other expectantly. 

 

When San’s lips part, Wooyoung begins to hear a faint remnant of what he’d expected. Vocally spun silk, cascading from the beauty’s lips into the space beyond.

 

“-I feel about you-”  _ “Bang!” _ Then, abruptly, it cuts off, breaking off into a shriek,“-ahhhh!” The fine silk immediately changes into weighty, molten pain and stabs Wooyoung’s hears. He grimaces at the sudden pain. It’s so strange, the sensation, for it’s not purely physical. He feels it in his heart: the pang of terror, of dread.

 

Wooyoung opens his eyes and checks on San. The siren had halted and sits hunched over on the ground. His hand is clamped over his mouth, and his face is squashed, eyes squeezed shut and brows knit together. Oh god. He’s shot.

 

He’s shot.

 

He’s shot.

 

They shot him.

 

They shot San.

 

They shot San.

 

The mob closes in, shouting more vague abuses toward the siren as they start convening. He’s got seconds before they get him. Woo registers his legs starting to move toward the siren. Then, everything sort of goes red. Bleary.

 

_ “Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!” _

 

Six shots.

 

Six hits.

 

Six gangsters wailing in agony on the ground where they fucking belong.

 

One panicked human whose vision swims with a red haze. One siren shuddering on the ground.

 

It takes a few seconds for Wooyoung to fully come to. When he does, he looks down at himself. He’s… Fine. Perfectly fine. He finds the gangsters in a pile, wailing and groaning. Panic stabs Woo’s chest as he studies them. A bullet to the knee, a bullet to the knee, a bullet to the knee, a bullet to the- all of the shots landed square on the knee. Dead center. It’s crippling for awhile, yes, but not fatal.

  
Fuck. 

 

Thank god. 

 

Wait.

 

But what about San?   
  


Wooyoung squats down next to San who seems to have crumbled onto the ground. However, he no longer appears to be in pain. Instead, his gaze is trained on the heap of downed thugs meteres away, jaw dropped and eyes blown.

 

“Where- where did they get you? Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” Wooyoung asks frantically. He checks every bit of exposed skin he can find. Neck? Bare. Hands? Fine. Face? Okay.

 

“I… I…” San mutters, gaze still glued to the gangsters. “I- You- you just- without even-” finally, he manages to find Wooyoung’s gaze. “Did you even look?”

 

“What?” Wooyoung’s brows furrow with confusion, “What do you mean ‘did I look’ I- Where did they hurt you, San? We need to get pressure on it, stat.”

 

“I…” San presses his lips together, and his pupils flit away skittishly. “I didn’t get hit.”

 

“I- But- But you-” Woo labors to regain his breath. Fuck. He’d been so wound up, apparently he’d forgotten to properly breathe. His head starts to spin as he comes down from the high of worry-fueled adrenaline. “That- The way you screamed, San-”

  
“I- I- The bullet was- it was close. I- I felt it- I felt the heat of it and- and I panicked,” San heaves an exhausted sigh. “I panicked.” He says again.

 

Shit.

 

Thank fucking god.

 

“I-  I apologize I- You did that all for-”

 

“San, do not apologize,” Wooyoung grabs the other by the shoulders, finding the other’s gaze deliberately. “You’re alright. That’s what matters.”

 

“S-Still. It’s shameful of me, really. I am supposed to be a warrior,” The siren lets out a humorless laugh, and a tear rolls down his cheek.

 

“San,” Wooyoung runs a hand along the line of San’s shoulder to his nape. He brings it forward to cup his face, “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Being afraid doesn’t- doesn’t make you weak.”

 

The siren hesitantly meets Wooyoung’s gaze, and, shit, he looks so wrecked, so terrified. Moreso than Wooyoung had ever seen him. Maybe it’s cumulative - pent up emotion compounding and finally starting to rear its ugly head. Everything must still be so new and scary to him. Woo would do just about anything to make San feel safe, but he knows he’d probably just make things worse.

 

San timidly rests his hand on top of Wooyoung’s. The contact jolts Woo, sending the spark through his arm all the way to his chest. It joins the frothing static jittering around his heart - a combination of nerves and desires. San doesn’t utter a word, yet Wooyoung remains paralyzed in place. He just. Freezes. Maybe it’s the confrontation with overwhelming beauty, or perhaps it’s the revelation of vulnerability, the imperceptible emotion swelling beneath the other’s dark eyes.

 

Wooyoung feels like he ought to do something or say something. Though it hardly seems the time, he considers apologizing. Clearing the air would be nice. However, just as he parts his lips to speak, the siren appears to make a decision.

 

In an instant, San throws the other’s hand off of his face. That indescribable light in his eyes dims, leaving cold, hard rejection. 

 

“We need to catch up with the others,” He says tersely, not sparing so much as a peek in Wooyoung’s direction as he starts walking. Wooyoung can only gawk with utter petrification. He watches the other saunter off confusedly, and he partially wonders if the siren had tethered his heart and started dragging it across the floor. It certainly feels that way. The static that had built up discharges, burning him to the core. Guilt and remorse singe his insides as he scrambles onto his feet pathetically.

 

He supposes that’s what he gets for running his stupid mouth. Did he say something to offend San further? No, probably not - Woo figures. More likely, the siren assumes that all of his kind words are just a ploy to bed him. 

 

Wooyoung can’t even find it in himself to be angry at the other. The assumption isn’t entirely outside of his character. Wringing a hand down his face, Woo forcefully tries to strike those thoughts from his head. San is safe. That’s what counts. All of the other shit can wait. It can wait until never, for all he cares. Right now, they’re just a short few corridors away from Yeosang.

 

That’s what matters.

 

* * *

 

Hongjoong’s head whips around frantically. He swears he’d heard some commotion, but it seems to have died down. He’s heard hardly a word from the petty officer ever since leaving the infirmary. Their exchanges are comprised almost entirely of the word “clear” or occasionally, two-word phrases such as “this way”. According to the haphazardly hashed out schematic on Seonghwa’s arm, Yeosang’s holding place is just around the corner.

 

Anxiety and excitement toil in Joong’s guts. He has no idea what to expect on the other side of that door. He checks the corner and, luckily, it’s empty. From his spot, he just barely makes out the little input pad next to the door. Hopefully, it won’t be too tough to crack.

 

“It’s clear,” He mutters. “I’m gonna go get a look at the lock system. If it doesn’t seem too hard, I’ll wave you over. If it looks rough, we might need to fall back a bit and discuss.” The other gives a vague grunt in return. That’s close enough to a “yes” for Hongjoong.

 

The captain rounds the corner cautiously, pupils darting every which way. He tiptoes along the wall to the door. A shadow shifts in his peripheral vision, prompting him to turn on his heel. His heartrate hastens as he continues carefully toeing himself backwards, narrowing his eyes at the wall. 

 

There’s nothing. It must’ve been a trick of the eye, he thinks. He knows that the PO’s hiding just around the corner. But there’s no spooky specters or dancing demons. Just bare white wall. A sigh of relief leaves the captain’s lip, and just as he readies himself to turn around, he bumps into something.

 

“Oof.”

  
That something made a sound.

 

“What the-”

 

That something just talked.

 

That something is a person.

 

Oh fuck.

 

Terrified, Joong turns on his heel, fists up and ready to fight. 

 

“Don’t fuck with me-!” “I- He’s got a gun-!” Hongjoong and the other shout over one another. 

 

The captain blinks once.

 

Then twice.

 

Three times and it’s still there. He’s still there. Not a mirage or an illusion.  _ He’s  _ real. Jeong Yunho stands right before him, pointing emphatically at Wooyoung, tail arced between his legs apprehensively. 

 

The two stand like that: completely awestruck. 

 

“C-Captain?” Yunho squeaks out.

 

“Yunho?” Hongjoong is tempted to ask for a pinch, just to make sure the other is real.

 

“Captain!” Yunho beams, and his tail starts wagging madly. Without warning, he scoops Joong up into his arms and hugs him tightly. “Captaincaptaincaptain-! Oh my god you’re okay! You’re okay you’re okay- Guys Joong is okay, look!”

 

Hongjoong can’t even be mad that his lungs are being crushed. He hugs Yunho back like his life fucking depends on it. His sanity practically does. He squeezes back with all his might, ecstasy flushing through his veins. 

 

Fuck.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

It’s Yunho. It’s really Yunho. His Yunho. His best friend and closest confidant and favorite pilot. And he’s okay. He’s okay. It’s such a relief, Hongjoong feels tears well up in his eyes.

 

More bodies clamor toward the hugging pair, and soon it’s a proper menagerie of overexcited crew. Hongjoong’s got his face buried in Yunho’s neck, so he can’t see. But he can hear the others; Wooyoung and San and Mingi and Jongho. They all sound fine.

 

“Holy fuck-! It’s him!” “C-Captain, you’re okay!” “How are you here?” “Are you okay?” “Yunho, you’re gonna kill him.” “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-”

 

Is this real life?

 

Are they really okay?

 

Are they really reunited?

 

“Yunho,” Joong finally chokes out when it becomes too much to bear. “Yunho, I- I can’t- can’t breathe.”

 

The captain sniffles as he drops to the ground. He finally gets a good, hard look at his crew. It’s been hours, but it feels like weeks have passed since he’s seen their faces. Mingi and San are wearing new, ill-fitting clothes. That’s… Interesting. Jongho’s got a nasty welt on his neck. It looks like a hickey, but Joong’s certain that’s where they stuck the needle that he saw on the security feed. Yunho appears a little shaken up. Wooyoung doesn’t seem to happy either, but. They’re all in one piece. Aside from a few knicks and bruises, everyone looks okay.

 

“I- I-” Joong stutters, trying to reign back happy tears, “How did you all- you all got out? I- How?”

 

The other five exchange glances, and Yunho answers, “Well, we, uh, actually got kinda split up but, um, well… Guess our guard detail underestimated Jongho.” The youngest shrugs nonchalantly. Mingi and San nod to one another.

 

The siren replies, “Mingi helped me stay focused, and I managed to get the voice suppression apparatus off.”

 

“They found us,” Jongho adds, “We sort of met at a, like, halfway point between our holding cells I guess.”

 

“Yeah,” Yunho nods. He grabs a bulge from one of his pockets and triumphantly waves around a fuel cell. “Also got our ticket out.”

 

“Wh- Holy shit are those fuel cells?”

 

“Yup,” The canis grins widely, showing his sharp canines. “Grabbed as many as we could fit in our pockets. They’ll keep us supplied for awhile after the fact, too.”

 

“You guys are like, godlike,” Hongjoong beams. “Holy shit. We just- We have to make sure Yeosang is okay.”

 

“Wait,” Yunho’s brows knit together. “We all had help, but I have to wonder - how did you get out?”

 

“O-Oh,” Hongjoong lets out an awkward chuckle. His ears burn as he chokes out, “Well, um, actually. I, uh…” God, saying it out loud is legitimately painful. It was one thing when it was just the two of them. But how is Hongjoong going to break to his crew that he got help from the petty officer of all people? “I actually had some help, too.” Hongjoong glances over his shoulder at Seonghwa, prompting the other to come forward.

 

He’s not keeping watch, though. All Joong sees is bare wall; the unoccupied corner staring back at him. Hongjoong purses his lips in displeasure. If the fucker’s gonna be stubborn, he’ll make the pompous asshat come play nice. It’s not like he wants the guy to be BFFs with his crew or some shit. But Seonghwa knew that cooperating with the crew would be part of the deal. 

 

“Come on, don’t be shy. They already hate you, so it’s not like their opinion of you can get any-”

 

The blow he feels to his chest feels like a direct hit from a fucking cannon ball. The captain’s smile immediately falls, and a sick feeling taints the giddy exhilaration that’d been flowing through his body.

 

He’s gone.

 

Seonghwa is gone.

 

Devastation crashes over Hongjoong violently.

 

Why?

 

_ Why? _

  
They had a deal. 

 

_ They had a fucking deal. _

 

Fuck.

 

Soliloquies of colorful curses reel through Hongjoong’s mind as wave after wave of ire crash over him. His guts roil, threatening to upturn themselves completely. Hotness stings his eyes and blurs his vision. This time, however, not from joy. 

 

It’s humiliating. Thoroughly humiliating. Hongjoong expected this from the start. He spent half their time together in wait for this precise thing to happen. Every second they spent together, the bastard had _ every fucking opportunity  _ to turn coat. So why now? Why now of all fucking times? Why wait until the captain is reunited with (most of) his crew, stronger than ever? And why take a bullet for the guy if you plan on betraying him? 

 

So, so many “why”s run through Hongjoong’s head. But the ugliest of them all screams the loudest:

 

Why does it hurt so fucking much?

 

“Captain,” Yunho asks, rousing Hongjoong from his haze. “Captain- You okay?” 

 

Hongjoong wipes his eyes and nods emphatically, “Y-Yeah. I’m fine.”

 

Yunho frowns. He knows. Of course he knows - not just from being a natural empath, but from years of friendship. Joong may be able to fool lots of people; Yunho is not one of them. Sure he can’t divine the exact reason why Hongjoong is feeling that way, but the canis can tell something is up.

 

“Who helped you?” Yunho asks softly. Hongjoong has a feeling that the other somehow knows the answer to the question.

 

For some reason, he makes something up anyway, “Just a- a guard. He was- well. It doesn’t matter.”

 

Stubbornly, the captain turns the corner again.

 

Fuck him.

 

Fuck Petty Officer Prick Seongtwat. Condescending, repugnant, disgusting, vain, tryhard, racist, classist, prejudiced, overzealous, genuinely petty, unbearable, judgmental- just. Fuck him.

 

ATEEZ doesn’t need him, that’s for fucking sure. If he really thinks he’s better off on his own, so be it. He can get a gun shoved up his ass by the Stray Boyz or whoever the fuck. Hongjoong wishes he could go back in time and take back his fucking apology, too. Fuck it. He was right. The PO’s loved ones  _ are  _ better off without him. His apology was fake as fuck, too. 

 

“So,” Hongjoong throws on a facade of captainly confidence and regards the rest of his crew who still stand by the door. “If you guys are here, I’m guessing you’re here for the same reason I am?”

 

“Yeosang should be in here,” Wooyoung confirms.

 

Joong nods, “Yes. He should. Now, I don’t know what the fuck to expect in there, but… Well, if there’s even a trace of Yeosang, we have to find out.” 

 

The others nod in agreement.

 

Hongjoong bites his lower lip nervously, “First, we’re gonna have to somehow hack into this door. See if there’s a key or a code we can figure o-”

 

_ “Chirp!” _ “Oh- Hey, it’s unlocked guys!” Mingi grins, pointing to the keypad. It does, in fact, don glowing green text reading: “OPEN”. 

  
_ “Shiiiiff.” _ The metal door slides open without any further prompting.

 

“Right,” Hongjoong says. It’s way darker beyond the door, making the captain hesitant to jump through. The room opened so easily, what if it’s a trap? “So, uh… Mingi, you opened it. Why don’t you go in first?”

 

Mingi’s smile falls, and he shakes his head, “Oh, no. No, I don’t think- Yunho- I think Yunho should go in first.”

 

“Wh- Why me?” The canis gripes.

 

“Because you’re brave,” The Venusian actually bats his eyelashes. Is now really the fucking time? Even worse, Yunho’s not totally unaffected. He sputters a bit, scratching at his nape while his tail wags. Embarrassing.

 

“W-Well, I- Uh- San’s good at seeing in the dark,” The canis very smoothly shifts attention to the siren. 

 

San’s face squashes with bafflement, and he fires back with a rejection of his own, “So I have to be the one going into the unknown due to your cowardice? If we’re to go into something potentially perilous, I volunteer Wooyoung to go first.”

 

“Wh- M-Me?” The human gapes.

 

Things quickly devolve as the baton’s thrown around:

 

“Yes, you.” “Mingi, I really think you  _ are  _ brave.” “Actually, I’m not.” “Wh- Nobody even considers me?” “Yunho are you  _ sure  _ you don’t want to?” “If there’s a warm body in there, no doubt Wooyoung will find it-” “-Hey, now-” “You know what? Fuck you guys, I won’t go in-” “-and cling to it.” “You’re really good at sensing things, too, aren’t you? You told me about how canis people-”

 

“H-Hello?” A tiny voice echoes out from within the open room. The sound is so muted that Hongjoong briefly believes he’d hallucinated it.

 

“H-hello?” The timid voice hums.

 

“Wait a minute.” “Is that-” The crew exchanges stupefied looks.

 

“Is- is someone there?” The person in the room asks. They sound scared, poor thing.

 

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong gasps.

 

Suddenly, nobody can get into that room fast enough. Hongjoong makes a break for it, and the others stampede in behind him. When the door shuts, he realizes that it’s not that the room has all the lights off. It’s just incredibly dim in comparison 

 

“Yeosang?” Hongjoong shouts. He realizes how imprudent that is - god knows how or what they’ve got in this room. The captain clamps his mouth shut and takes a few seconds to observe.

 

The place is a mess. Wait. No. Not quite. It’s chaotic, utterly and completely chaotic. Yet it’s not exactly a mess. There isn’t trash strewn about or stuff heaped dangerously. Shelves chock full of stuff line the walls. Little bots tend to hovering workbenches, soldering parts or running scans. One side of the room has a massive desk, and above it float about a dozen screens. There’s all sorts of shit on top of the desk: tools, papers, tablets, parts. Yet every little thing seems to have a place. Hongjoong squints, absolutely astounded as he goes closer for more thorough investigation. No two things are touching or overlapping. Of the probably hundreds of little bits, bobs, and pieces, not a single one touches. This is methodical. Cluttered but compulsive. Restless but entirely organized.

 

“Yeosang?” Hongjoong tries again. So far no trap doors have opened beneath them. That’s a good sign.

 

“G-Guys, is that really you?” The voice - Yeosang’s voice - echoes across the room. Oddly enough, it sounds like it’s coming from above. Hongjoong looks up, but most of the tall room’s view is obscured by some giant floating platform.

 

“Where is he?” “Yeosang?” “Yeosang- Hello?” The rest of the crew fans out, carefully checking the nooks and crannies of what appears to be a workshop of sorts. 

 

“I’m over here,” Yeosang’s voice answers.

 

“Where is he?” “I- I don’t see you, Yeo!” “Hello? Yeosang?” “What if it’s just a recording?”

 

“I’m not a recording,” Yeo’s flat, pouty tone corroborates the statement.

 

Joong carefully checks the objects on the shelves, hoping to find some secret passage or something. Where the hell is he?

 

“Yeosang, where are you?” The captain calls out.

 

“I’m- I’m here! Guys!” Yeosang huffs exasperatedly.

 

Yunho even tries sniffing around, ducking under workbenches and sticking his head between shelves, “Yeosang, I can’t really smell you with all this metal. C-Can you speak louder?”

 

“I’m here!” Yeo shouts.

 

“Wait- Okay, I- I think I- I’m picking you up, I- You’re by the center,” Yunho paces over toward the middle of the room, weaving between workbenches. “Wait- I’m getting it now it’s- it’s super faint but- but- Oh my god Yeosang!”

 

Yunho’s devastated tone draws the attention of the crew immediately. The canis covers his face with this hands in devastation. Hongjoong runs over to his side immediately.

 

“Oh- Oh my god, Yeosang,” The canis slowly picks up some part off of a workbench, cradling it like a child. “Oh my god you’re- they- they took you apart.”

 

Hongjoong’s eyes go wide, and he gasps. Shit. THat’s his arm. That’s his fucking arm. But the rest of him is nowhere to be found. Nausea stirs in the captain’s gut. When the others catch on, they all react to the trauma in their own way. Wooyoung freezes and locks up, while San’s jaw drops. Jongho covers his mouth, too, and Mingi looks like he’s about to faint.

 

Yunho sniffles, “Y-Yeo. Don’t worry we’ll- we’ll get you a new body I-” He cradles the arm, pressing it to his cheek, “We’ll still love you. Even if you’re just an arm.”

 

“I’m up here,” Yeosang yells.

 

“In heaven?”

 

“On the platform you morons!”

 

In unison, ATEEZ’s necks crane, and they glance at the floating platform that had been obstructing the view of the ceiling the entire time. And it is precisely there that they see a brunette head sticking out over the edge, gazing down upon them with disapproving eyes.

 

“O-Oh,” Yunho coughs. “Hi, Yeosang.”

 

Yeosang pouts down at them, “You thought I was a  _ talking arm _ ?”

 

“I said we would still love you anyways,” Yunho argues. “But, hey, you’re alive. And, like, mostly in one piece so… Yay?”

 

Yeo heaves a heavy sigh and lets out a chuckle, “Glad to have you guys back.”

 

Hongjoong can’t help grinning. Typical. Even in the most dire of situations, his crew manages to do something both incredibly stupid and incredibly hilarious.

 

“You alright?” The captain asks.

 

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” Yeo nods. “Obviously, I’m a little handicapped, but that’s okay. Just um…” The cyborg nibbles his lip nervously. “Usually I’d jump, but given the circumstances, I don’t wanna strain my legs. Can you guys help me get down from here?”

 

Jongho snorts, “Maybe Mingi can sit on Yunho’s face again.”

 

“He- What?!” Hongjoong guffaws.

 

“Nothing! Ignore him!” Yunho exclaims sheepishly. The crew’s laughter bounces loudly across the tall chamber.

 

The captain smiles as he watches the more vertically gifted try to help Yeosang down. 

 

Finally, he thinks.

 

We’re all together.

 

Things are going to be alright going forward.

 

He feels complete, whole. Full, even, teeming to the brim with relief and pure happiness.

 

Well, almost.

 

For some reason, a small splotch of black remains smudged on his heart like a stubborn stain. Hongjoong  _ almost  _ feels complete, he  _ almost  _ feels whole. 

 

But not quite.

 

* * *

 

Seonghwa’s heart races. From his angle of view, the captain’s scribbles do him infinitely less service than they had for the artist. He doesn’t have much time. Surely he will have noticed by now. Or perhaps he’s still celebrating.

 

The petty officer never planned to fully cooperate with the captain. He’s no moron, after all. Sooner or later, the bastard would’ve betrayed him, anyways. “We’ll drop you off on the next planet, promise” - bullshit. No doubt the man would find constant excuses as to why he’d put off the other’s supposed release.

 

Hwa left shortly after seeing the captain’s little reunion with his crew. He could hardly stomach the sight for longer than a minute. While he had fully intended on separating from the other, he did not know when. Their little love circle proved the ideal time. Not only did it serve as an excellent distraction for the captain; it also served as a potent dose of reality for the petty officer.

 

Seonghwa gets it now.

 

He completely understands how the man had inspired such loyalty from his people. How he’d conned a siren and even Venusian royalty into his following.

 

“Captain” Kim Hongjoong wreaks charisma. Even in times of duress, he possesses an overt exuberance, and beneath the layers of tawdry clothing and ugly accessories, there is a certain beauty to him. It’s not that Seonghwa thinks him beautiful, per se. It’s more objective, really. He’s got good bone structure and a well-toned, petite figure. What a waste for such a rotten man to be blessed with such fine features. He’s no dolt, either. At least, not as much of one as Seonghwa had originally thought. It was like pulling teeth out to get him to give in. The officer was shocked to learn the man nearly as stubborn as he. The “captain” also has a penchant for pulling plans out of his ass - it’s likely what’s allowed him to evade the Coalition for so long.

 

Most canny, though, is the “captain”s acting ability. He must have some sort of training. How else could he so convincingly act as if he cares about people? His little “no violence” charade was tiring, to say the least. However, his biggest theatric triumph was no doubt his saccharine nurse routine. Seonghwa had been so delirious, he admits that, for just the briefest of spells, he fell for it. He genuinely believed that “Captain” Kim Hongjoong cared about him. The jacket for a blanket - that was a nice touch. Absolutely rich, really. Seonghwa concedes that he could do no better himself had he cast himself in such a role. And then the apology. That sent Seonghwa into a tizzy, a delirious, mind-melding whirlwind of conflicting thought.

 

God, how foolish it feels now. Seonghwa gives his past self a bit of leeway. The blood loss had impeded his thought. At that point, he’d been so exhausted, hurt, and emotionally compromised, he’d have believed anything. It played a huge part in him believing that the captain cared. That he would make good on his promise.

 

But, unsurprisingly, Mr. Kim fucked up. He showed his hand too soon.

 

The second the “captain” saw his crew, he bolted, completely forgetting about the officer. He leaped up into his canis friend’s arms, and that was it. Seonghwa’s usefulness had expired, and he’d been tossed aside. The sickeningly sweet scene served as an important reality check for the dazed officer:

  
This is what Kim Hongjoong acts like when he cares. 

 

As the man himself had impressed upon Hwa many times,  _ these  _ are the people he cares about.  _ This  _ is his family, and he would do anything for them. Not Seonghwa. He’s not one of them. He never will be. He was simply a stepping stone, a trial the captain needed to endure in order to find his true allies.

 

Surely, in lieu of finding those people, Seonghwa would face a great betrayal. After all, what need did the self-ordained captain have for the disadvantaged petty officer?

 

And so, remembering what he’d really set out to do initially, Seonghwa acted. It was only a matter of time, really, before they turned their crosshairs on one another. He decided he would be the one first. 

 

Seonghwa peeks over a corner, watching the short hallway. It’s empty. Good, he thinks. He’s managed to find his way closer to the guts of the ship. While he’s more likely to cross paths with an enemy, he’s also more likely to come across useful resources: PC hubs, supply closets, an unsuspecting thug with a loaded gun and bad reaction time.

 

The officer steels himself with a deep breath as he pushes further in. The hall opens up into a catwalk overlooking some open area. Not ten meters away at the very end of said hall stands a little PC hub. Judging by its location in the ship, Hwa guesses that it’s an inventory distribution hub. He’s got no packages to send across the ship, but it’ll have to do regardless. As long as he can access an interstellar network, his plan can be put into action.

 

After another quick scan of the area, the blond slinks against the wall toward the little PC. It - much like a large portion of the ship - is completely deserted. Seriously, he questions the organizations who’d taken hold of the ship. Where the hell is everyone?

 

No matter.

 

As he approaches the open catwalk, the sound of sirens fade behind him. Thank goodness. It’s so much easier to think, to focus, and to listen out for threats this way. The officer bites down on his lip nervously, stifling any stray sound. He squats down low upon approaching the mouth of the hall. Solid floor transitions to a grated catwalk at the intersection of the hall and the open area. 

 

It’s dangerous, Seonghwa thinks to himself. He should just crawl under the desk and make quick work of the PC. However, something itches at the back of his head. A hunch. His gut urges him forward, prompting him to sneak up to the railing.

 

Seonghwa gasps. He clamps a hand over his mouth with immediacy, paranoid that someone would hear the sound. However, judging by the low hum below, he doubts it. His heart seizes in his chest upon the sight.

 

That’s where they all are.

 

The catwalk looks out onto a massive workfloor below. Spread evenly across the space there has to be a hundred little work tables - each with two to three bodies crowded around it. From the catwalk, they look like puny dolls milling about, working diligently at almost imperceptible metal parts. The little worker bees hammer and weld and screw. They repair and mend and dissect and clean. Some of the apparatuses are in so many pieces they’re nigh unrecognizable.

 

But Seonghwa knows a gun damn well when he sees one.

 

This is it.

 

This is the guts of their operation.

 

This is where the Stray Kids - Stray Boyz, or whoever the hell they are - augment their arms.

 

The officer stifles a laugh. He doesn’t love using expletives, but in this case he finds it apt:

 

He’s hit the  _ fucking motherlode _ .

 

This plays perfectly into the Coalition’s most recent anti-gang initiatives. Arms dealing is a top priority on the Coalition’s list of offenses, and Seonghwa is about to bust one of the biggest players in the game.

 

A wave of ecstasy washes over the officer at the realization. Karma is coming back to repay him for everything he’s endured. Oftentimes, people question: “Why have I had to suffer through such trials?” This, Seonghwa realizes, is the payoff of his trial. This bust. The swift hammer of justice crushing not only pesky ATEEZ, but an entire criminal organization, under its mighty weight. Hwa can picture it already. The platinum medal. The fast tracked promotion. The glowing, proud faces of Mama, Papa, and his brother. 

 

No.

 

Seonghwa reigns back the fantasy. His time will come, he tells himself. But first, he has to make the call. The PO slowly backs away from the railing, tiptoeing back to the PC hub.

 

The poor bastard who used it last had even affixed a sticky note with the password. (“EARTHISFLAT” - ridiculous, Seonghwa notes.)

 

Their server is beyond messy. While there appears to be an attempt at organization, files clutter every damn directory. Seonghwa’s hands shake as he frantically navigates the terminal, constantly checking his peripherals. Still nobody. 

 

Sweat drips down his nape at the thought of all those beneath. Should just one look up, he could be had. 

  
But with great risk comes great reward. 

 

The gangsters seem to be all too trusting - leaving passwords around, letting just anyone access the interstellar communication networks. (Well, anyone who understands how to access them, anyways.) It’s clear that they would have no direct lines to anyone useful. A few contact keys with coded labels sit in the address directory. Could they be smaller fish? Distributors? Or suppliers? Partners? God, how Seonghwa wishes he could take a crack at the keys and figure out just who else is facilitating this operation.

 

However, now is not the time.

 

He doesn’t need a contact key, anyways. He quickly taps out intended address key manually before sending out the signal.

 

Suckers.

 

As much as Seonghwa wishes he could sit back on his laurels and wait for the cavalry to arrive, he knows he needs to keep moving. When they come, he’ll have to be ready to assist. But for now, he has to find somewhere safe and secure.

 

It’ll be chaos, for certain. Seonghwa just hopes he can get one last look at Captain Kim’s face before he’s taken away.

 

* * *

 

“-I already told you-” Sangyeon groans. The massive table he sits at is covered in papers - scrawled notes and the past week’s ledgers. Projected screens line the perimeter of the room, along with some shelves stocked with old paper records and stray gun parts. Though daunting, the mountain of paperwork isn’t nearly as exasperating as the man sitting across from him: Bang Chan. 

Chan holds up a finger,“I know, but-”

 

“-rap battles are not a valid form of conflict mediation,” Sangyeon cuts the other off. Chan huffs, deflating slightly but accepting the defeat. Well, accepting it for now. No doubt his vehement insistence on utilizing mandated rap battles to “strengthen our brothers’ bonds” will come up again soon.

 

Sangyeon anticipated their merger to be challenging. He projected the difficulty of combining assets, reallocating roles within the organization, and marrying their operations. However, none of his carefully laid out plans had accounted for the whiplash-inducing culture shock he and The Boyz experienced upon boarding Chan’s ship: CB97.

 

Reconciling the aforementioned cultural differences has become a huge part of their meetings. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly: the two leaders constantly struggle to come to accordance on, well, anything culture related. Numbers, though. Those are alright. Sure, they suffered that initial downturn in revenue, but they’re on a steady rise. Coalition crackdowns have made some of the best close their doors and go into hiding. Sangyeon’s honestly happy they’re just staying afloat.

 

_ “Shiff.”  _

  
The door to the captains’ study opens, and a lithe, lemur-tailed form bounces in. His tail’s wrapped around a loaf of bread, and the beer bottles in his hands clink as he skips across the room.

 

“Wh- Do you  _ mind _ ?” Chan growls.

 

“Sup, Pa,” Kevin waves at the surly Stray Kids leader. “ _ Daddy _ .” The hybrid beams, happily wedging himself into Sangyeon’s lap uninvited.

 

Sangyeon doesn’t bother looking up from the ledger he’d been reading, “Kevin you know what I said about walking in on meetings.” He’s used to the hybrid's quirks by now. A sudden onset of sobriety would shock Sangyeon more than anything else at this point.

 

“Yeah, but I wanted to watch the show with you,” The lemur snuggles up, resting his head on Sangyeon’s shoulder.

 

“Weren’t you having fun playing with your new friend?” Sangyeon asks.

 

“Ugh,” Chan makes heaving noises, “Can’t you keep your weird little spaceship to the bedroom?”

 

“Actually,” Kevin says, ignoring Chan, “He’s my boyfriend.”

 

“Oh? The cyborg is your boyfriend now?” Sangyeon finally looks up from his papers, a grin tickling the edges of his lips. The hybrid nods enthusiastically. “Are you,” Sangyeon smirks, “ _ Nuts and bolts about him _ ?” He snorts.

 

Chan sighs, “Oh for fuck’s sake-”

 

“Ugh,” Kevin swoons. “I am. I could  _ drone  _ on and on about him.”

 

“Well I hope you didn’t push his buttons too much.”

 

_ “Thud!!” _ Chan slams his hands on the table and stands up.

 

“Why are you here, mate?” He asks exasperatedly.

 

“I’m here to watch the show,” The hybrid waves the beer in his hands (and the bread in his tail) festively. He slides one of the bottles across the table to Chan which causes the rough and tumble leader to relent a little. 

 

“What show?” Sangyeon asks.

 

“Computer!” Kevin barks, “Show security feeds for- oh, I don’t know, camera one-one-three.”

 

A screen pops up next to the others across the room and floats to Kevin’s position. He sets down the bottles he’d been holding to pinch the corner of the screen and make it bigger. With a push, the little floating panel travels to the head of the table. 

 

At first Sangyeon has no idea what he’s looking at. It’s hallways. Bare black and white metal just like everything else on the damn ship. Then, at the edge of the frame, people appear. A lot of them.

 

“What the-” “Kevin what is this?”

 

The hybrid uses his tail to point to the screen, “See that one? The handsome one? That’s my boyfriend!” He smiles, dropping the bread loaf into his hands to tear off a piece.

 

Chan’s knuckles turn white around his beer bottle, “Are those the prisoners?”

 

“Maybe,” Kevin chuckles.

  
Sangyeon’s eyes go wide, and his heart drops.

 

_ God. _

 

_ Dammit. _

 

_ Kevin. _

 

“S-Sangyeon,” Chan lets out a ragged breath. “Sangyeon.”

 

“Chan, c-calm down,” Sangyeon urges the other.

 

“Sangyeon,” The Stray Kids leader grips the table as his chest starts heaving.

 

“Ch-Chan remember the deep breathing, okay?”

 

“S-Sangyeon they were- they were supposed to- th-the money-” Chan gulps loudly. Sangyeon can already see the other losing color. On the contrary, Kevin seems just swell. Stupid pain in the ass.

 

“Chan, why don’t you step out?”

 

Chan nods wordlessly. He wrings a hand over his face and practically bolts out of the room, looking ill.

 

That leaves Sangyeon alone in the room with Kevin. The Boyz ringleader gives his underling a stern look.

 

“Kevin, explain,” Sangyeon demands brusquely.

 

“Well,” Kevin shrugs, standing up, “I told you. That-” He points to the screen with his fluffy tail again, “-is my boyfriend. He’s, like, super hot and sort of being a tsundere, but whatever. It’s cute. He’s, like, a total genius and made all of his augments and-”

 

“Kevin, why is he running off with the rest of his little squad?”

 

The hybrid pauses. His ears tint red, and he lets out a sheepish laugh. He knows what he did was wrong. Of course he knows. But he can never make anything easy. Then again, it seems like nobody on the damn ship can. In all honesty, Kevin’s quirks aren’t nearly as annoying as some of the other shit Sangyeon deals with in his day-to-day.

 

“Well, I mean, that,” Kevin shrugs again, “I really don’t know. You- You believe me, right?” His smile falters.

 

“I do understand you’re not directly responsible for their release. However, you still let the cyborg go free. I imagine you could’ve prevented all of them from reuniting, too,” Sangyeon responds. “Am I wrong?”

 

“I- N-no,” The hybrid scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

 

“Do you understand why we’re upset with you?”

 

“That Chan guy fucking  _ hates  _ me-”

 

“Kevin, this isn’t personal,” Sangyeon adores his Boyz as if they’re his literal sons but, god, can they be a lot to handle sometimes. “You knew that we could have really used the money from their bounties, but you let things proceed like this anyways. That is why we’re upset. What I wonder is why? Why did you do this? And don’t tell me it was just for laughs like when you set that guy on fire-”

 

“No  _ that  _ was for science,” Kevin corrects his boss. Then he wilts again, withering into the likeness of a guilty kid. He remains stubbornly quiet for a minute, fidgeting with his hands and twitching his tail. When he finally breaks the silence, he mutters,“You now, visitation hours in prisons suck.”

 

“Visitation hours?”

 

“I would, like, never be able to see my boyfriend,” Kevin responds impishly.

 

“Kevin,” Sangyeon growls menacingly. That’s enough to shut down the hybrid’s jest.

 

He gets real quiet again, pupils flitting around nervously and tail shuddering restlessly. When the genuine answer comes, his tone is sober and quiet. In spite of his hesitance, Kevin meets Sangyeon’s eyes when he speaks.

 

“People don’t belong in cages,” He says adamantly.

 

Sangyeon’s anger dissipates. His heart aches, and he just heaves a sigh, suddenly exhausted. Wringing a hand down his face, the tired leader contemplates his next course of action. Chan won’t budge. He wants those bounties.  _ Bad _ . And how can Sangyeon fault him for that? Human trafficking isn’t their thing, nor is bounty hunting - but what kind of a moron would pass up on this? They’re talking tens of millions of credits. Hundreds, even. Not to mention the pretty penny they can fetch for Prince Mingi - seriously, why the fuck is  _ he  _ here?

 

But Kevin…

 

The Boyz leader feels as if he’s reached an impasse. His hands are tied. He can’t make any executive orders without Chan’s consent (and vice versa, of course). Chan sure as hell isn’t going to agree to reversing the order. 

 

“Kevin, I can’t do anything about this,” Sangyeon replies dejectedly. “Your boyfriend and his wonderful friends are on their own.”

 

Kevin immediately brightens up, nodding happily, “I know, I know.”

 

“So- So no more interfering, okay? I don’t wanna hear about you - I dunno - helping them out or something.”

 

“I won’t, promise!” Kevin plops onto the table and grabs a beer. “I’ll stay right here and watch with you.” He swings his feet giddily.

 

“Fine,” Sangyeon replies, grabbing a beer for himself. If he’s gotta watch hundreds of millions of credits fly out the south hangar, he might as well be tipsy for it. “Best of luck to them. Going up against probably the most well-armed gang in the galaxy.”

 

“I wouldn’t count them out,” Kevin giggles.

 

“Oh? And why not? Do they have some secret weapon I don’t know about?”

 

“Because my boyfriend’s the best.”

 

“Really? What is it you like so much about this guy, anyways. You won’t leave your old man to chase after some boy, will you?”

 

“I promise I’ll only boy chase during my alloted vacation days-”

 

_ “Diiiing! Diiiiing! Diiiiing! Diiiing!” _

 

Suddenly, another little screen pops up in the air. A blue triangle with an exclamation point flashes brightly.

 

“The fuck is that?” Sangyeon asks, brows furrowing.

 

Kevin’s eyes go wide, and the color saps from his skin, “That- That can’t be right.”

 

“Kevin? Kevin what is it?” 

  
The lemur hybrid crawls across the table to tap the ringing beacon notice. He grabs the tablet projection out of the air and reads its contents.

 

“Kevin?” Sangyeon stands up as paranoia begins staining his already bitter mood. “Kevin what is it?”

 

“No. No, no, no, no that- that can’t be right,” Kevin says.

 

_ “Shiff.” _ Chan strides back in, much more calm than when he’d left,“Alright. I’m good now. Got faith in my boys, no need to panic. Needed some fresh air and- Why’s he on the table? Thought I heard some ringing, too…”

 

“It’s a code blue,” Kevin mutters. He taps the little tablet in his hands.

“A- A what?” Chan’s eyes go wide, and he looks as if he’s about to have another attack. “No. It’s- It’s broken.”

 

“Nuh-uh, the- the reading is right, but… But- But that can’t be right I- How?  _ Who _ ? Who in their right minds would- would-”

 

“ _ What _ is a code blue?!” Sangyeon throws his hands up, lost.

 

Kevin lets out a shaky breath and turns to Sangyeon, panic written all over his face, “It means the Coalition’s coming. Someone dinged a distress beacon from within the ship.”

 

“What?!” Sangyeon bursts out of his seat. “But- But who?! You don’t think they-”

 

“No! No, I swear!” Kevin throws his hands up defensively, shrinking back, “I promise I didn’t- he- he wouldn’t my boyfriend wouldn’t do that. He hates them. I mean- They all have bounties on their heads. You think he’d really be stupid enough to bring the collectors to us?”

 

“Maybe he planned on slipping out before they arrived.”

 

“No it- it doesn’t make sense,” Kevin shakes his head frenziedly. “No, no, he wouldn’t he’s- he’s a genius and this? This is stupid and- and foolhardy. It’s- It’s  _ cocky _ . And he is  _ not  _ cocky. No. He’s got too much to lose.”

 

“Well everyone we snatched does,” Sangyeon posits. “So maybe one of them went off the deep end and put out the beacon.”

 

“No,” Chan cuts in, shockingly sounding the calmest of them all. “No, no you’re wrong.”

 

“What?” “What are you talking about?”

 

The Stray Kids leader elabortes, “There’s one person on this ship who has everything to gain from this.” He slams his fist on the table angrily.

 

“What?” “Who?!”

 

Chan crosses over to one of the bookshelves and tears it open. Sangyeon winces, waiting to hear dozens of books crashing onto the ground. Instead, the entire thing swings open to reveal a hidden gunsafe.

 

“The one fucker without a bounty on his head,” Chan says gruffly, yanking the biggest, nastiest looking gun off of the rack. “Petty Officer Park Seonghwa.” He spits out the name scornfully. 

 

“And what are you doing with that?” Sangyeon asks as Chan inspects the massive monstrosity vaguely resembling a gun in his hands.

 

“This?” Chan lifts the thing with shocking ease. It’s longer than his arm and about three times as thick. “I’m gonna shoot someone with it.”

 

“Wh- Who?!” “Better  _ not  _ be my boyfriend.”

 

“Iunno yet,” Chan says. “But when I do-” He nods to the screen with the security feeds, “-you’ll see it.”

 

“Uh- Chan, I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

 

“Toodles!” The Stray Kids leader waves as he walks through the door, completely ignoring the others.

 

Sangyeon questions his life choices in that moment. He wonders just how many years he’s taken off of his life span with his profession. Things used to run so smoothly back when they were just running cons and washing money. Ever since merging with the Stray Kids, life has been full of adventures. Not necessarily in a good way. 

 

This, however, has presented itself as perhaps the most horrific adventure yet. It’s one that he’s perfectly content to sit out of.

 

“Kevin,” Sangyeon tells the hybrid, “Stay here. With me.”

 

“Huh?” Kevin tilts his head inquisitively.

 

“This room’s tucked away from all the gun-toting crazies, and it’s far from any entry point the Coalition might try. Just. Stay with me here, where it’s safe. Okay?”

 

The scientist pouts slightly but nods,“Okay.”

 

Sangyeon gives the other a weak smile, “That’s a good boy.” He lifts in a salutatory gesture before pouring half the bottle down his throat.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

The second Yeosang’s feet touch the ground, the entire crew converged on him. After a few moments of fussing, Joong reigned together his rowdy crew to remind them: they’re not in the clear yet. No matter how many times they asked, Yeo refused to tell them exactly what went down during his stay. The captain made a note to ask him later, when everything’s settled. Because everything will settle - of this, he is adamant. 

 

When they’d peeled themselves off of the poor cyborg, Yeosang busied himself with the PC. He bullied himself into the system and brought up a map.

 

The hangar is close.

  
_ Freedom  _ is close.

 

Genuine, unencumbered freedom, too. For upon their departure their last remaining thread to the Coalition will be snipped. Then that’s it. Utter and complete reign over themselves and their journey for the Treasure. Thinking about it sends jolts of electricity through Hongjoong’s veins. He almost wishes he could watch the blackcoat’s face as they make their escape - leaving his fate up to the barbarous Stray Boyz.

 

However, all of those happy fantasies of vengeance and escape are rather forward-thinking. First, they need to make their way to the hangar and get there in one piece. The problem is, one of ATEEZ’s crew happens to be in two.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Yeosang curses, slamming on one of the keyboards at the desk angrily.

 

“Whoa- What is it?” Hongjoong leans over to get a look (as if he’d be of any help to the genius). 

 

Yeo wrings a hand through his hair, indignant, “The fucker locked up my arm.”

 

“I- He what?” Joong infers that “the fucker” is actually the scientist who had Yeosang cooped up. What the guy did with Yeo and why, the cyborg never said. He didn’t seem too keen on retracing his steps, so Hongjoong opted not to push.

 

“There’s um- Here,” The cyborg points to some things around his arm. They sort of look like cuffs or bands. Yeo pokes a finger toward his severed forearm, and suddenly, a blue hex field projects itself over the actual synthetic arm.

 

“Oh, shit. But you, uh, you got the rest of you together, right?” Hongjoong tries optimistically.

 

Yeosang winces, “He was… Not ‘done’ with my arm.”

 

“Well, how long do you think it’ll take to break these things off. Maybe Jongho can help. Hey, Jongho-”

 

“What?! Fuck no. This isn’t some cell door or melon. This is my  _ arm _ ,” Yeosang cradles the mechanical augment protectively. “The inner workings are delicate, and I’m not about to risk fucking it up more by handing it over to- to him… No offense Jongho.” He tacks on the last bit for propriety, really. Luckily, the youngest takes no offense, simply shrugging. 

 

Hongjoong purses his lips in thought, “So, um, what should we do? This is definitely your thing. Just- anything we can do to help, really.”

 

Yeo heaves a defeated sigh, “I think it’s best to wait. I can take care of this back on the ship. Lemme just find some-” He rifles around, pulling open drawers. When he doesn’t seem satisfied, he crosses over to nearby shelves, tossing things out carelessly until finding some cables. Hongjoong watches in wonder as the cyborg carefully secures the augment around his back in a makeshift sling of sorts. The captain tries not to gawk too much. He’d never really seen Yeosang without his augments before. His jacket’s sleeve sags limply next to his body, and his gait even appears different, unbalanced without the familiar weight.

 

“That’ll do,” Yeosang says. He raises his brows at the captain, making Joong realize that he’d been staring. Woops.

 

Hongjoong coughs awkwardly before turning to regard the rest of the crew, “Anyone found anything else useful?” He’s met with a resounding “no” and a few shakes of the head. 

 

The captain braces himself with a deep breath. It’s time. It’s time to go (and never look back, ever). He’s more than ready to get the fuck off of this hellship and leave all the thugs (along with a certain blond) with it.

 

“Let’s get the hell out of here, then,” Hongjoong nods to the door.

 

“Yup.” “Sounds good to me.” “Good fucking riddance.” A few responses echo in the workshop. 

 

Not one for lingering, Hongjoong leads the other six out. The second the door opens, loud noise floods in, and they’re back in the fray. Yeosang’s eyes lack full functionality (apparently some node fixed on his head was being tricky); but he’s still got a damn good memory. The cyborg and the captain take point, practicing the same sneaking methods Joong used before. In a line of seven, they cling to the walls, the two in front checking around corners when they come across one.

 

“How far do you figure we are?” Hongjoong asks Yeosang as they stop at a four-way intersection of corridors. It’s an awkward halfway point between a whisper and a yell. The alarms necessitate higher voices, but it feels massively counterintuitive considering the fact that they’re trying to be stealthy.

 

“Not too far,” Yeo replies. “We hang a left here, then it’s a straight shot until we hit some stairs. Two levels and it’ll spit us right out at the-”

 

_ “Diiiing! Diiiiing! Diiiiing! Diiiing-!”  _ Deafening ringing fills the halls without warning. 

 

“What the fuck is that?” “A-ahh- loud-” “Did the alarms break or something?!” “Wha-!?” ATEEZ flinches in response to the abrupt noise, clutching their ears and looking around in panic.

 

Franticness spikes in the captain’s bloodstream, but he holds it at bay. Not in front of the crew, he tells himself. It’s his job to be calm and collected in times like this. Just as he opens his mouth to give a few reassuring words, an announcement comes over the loudspeakers:

 

“Security update,” The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but Joong sure as hell can’t place it. It’s probably one of the admins. But then again, why would it be a human at all? Why not just a prerecorded message. “Attention Stray Boyz,” The sober sounding voice bellows through the hall, “This is your co-leader, Sangyeon speaking. If you are unfamiliar with the coding associated with our alarm calls, the ship’s security has initiated a code blue.”

 

Code blue?

 

The hell is that? An escalation or something? Why the fuck does everyone use codes, anyway? Why can’t they just say “the prisoners got out” or something?! As much as Joong would love the answers to these questions, none of them are quite as pressing as the words that come next:

 

“Coalition units are estimated for arrival within the quarter hour- that’s  _ fifteen minutes _ , for you Stray Kids- actually, you know what? Fuck it. Fuck it-”

 

Apparently, today’s a bad day at the office for the guy on the intercom.

 

“-I bet half of you don’t even know what a code blue is. I mean, it’s not like we’ve ever actually  _ had  _ one- fuck’s sake. I’ll put it  _ real simple _ so that all of you fuckers can understand. Blackcoats are gonna be knocking on our doors in anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes because some  _ jackass  _ with a shameless dye job decided to send out a distress beacon. 

 

“Arm yourselves and convene at the entry point nearest to you. All naval gunners please take to your usual postings per drills for external combat. If  _ any  _ of those words confuse you, refer to the bulletin being sent to all computers on the ship. It’ll have  _ pretty pictures _ to tell you where to go.

 

“Speaking of pretty pictures, the bulletin also has a reminder of what all of our loose prisoners look like. Keep them alive. Except for the blackcoat. You see that guy,  _ kill him _ . Or, better yet, bring them to your other leader. He’s walking around somewhere with a gun the size of his leg. 

 

“Should you have any further questions,  _ do  _ hesitate to ask them. Really, it’s not that hard, people-”

 

Another voice cuts into the feed, “Wait- this is live?”

 

The self-proclaimed co-leader responds, “W-Well, yes-”

 

“To the whole ship?”

 

“Yes, Kevin, it’s live to the-”

 

“Boyfriend! Boyfriendboyfriendboyfriend- can you hear me-!?”  _ “Screeeeeeee-!” _ The speakers actually squeak from the shrill noise. Yunho winces, pressing his hands even more tightly against his ears. The others jump in shock from the sudden intrusion - save for Yeosang, who simply looks like he’s going to be sick.

 

A muffled commotion filters through the speakers until, finally, the co-leader crops back onto the feed, triumphant, “-anyways. Um… Th-that will be all. Remember: arm yourselves. Kill the blackcoats. Bring our prisoners back in so we can collect on them. Over and out, boys.”

 

_ “Click.” _

 

_ “Diiiiing! Diiiing!”  _ “Code blue.”  _ “Diiiing! Diiiing-!” _ The second Sangyeon hangs up, the alarms resume - different this time.

 

There was so damn much said, it takes Hongjoong a minute to genuinely digest it all. Code blue? Blackcoats incoming? Jackass with a shameless dye job?

  
That’s the first detail to click. Shameless dye job. That can only refer to one person: Petty Officer Park Seonghwa. Going over the security announcement again, Hongjoong starts to piece it together. The more that realization dawns upon him, the more disgusted and ill he feels.

 

The petty officer snuck away when Hongjoong had been most distracted. Being somewhat acquainted with the ship’s networks, the PO must’ve been able to send out that beacon. It couldn’t have been easy. No doubt the gang buried anything that could put them at risk when they’d taken hold of the ship. Leave it to the stubborn bastard PO to crack it. 

 

Sweltering heat sears Hongjoong’s insides. Invasive images of the other fill his mind. He imagines the petty officer slinking off, laughing to himself about how foolish the captain was to trust him. The guy probably popped a hard-on just thinking about the big bust. It’ll win him big brownie points with his fellow blackcoats. Maybe he’ll get an award or something - like a medal that says “BIGGEST ASS KISSER”.

 

Whatever.

 

It doesn’t matter, because ATEEZ is getting out. The Stray Boyz can deal with the blackcoats for all he cares. And Petty Officer Prettyboy? Well, he can fucking eat a dick and die.

 

“D-Do you suppose that the hangar is a, um, an entry point?” Mingi is the first one to brave speaking in lieu of the devastating announcement.

 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Hongjoong replies gruffly. Breathing steadily is difficult right now. Putrid anger burns him, and an almost overwhelming part of him wants nothing more than to hunt the PO down and kill him. He starts around the corner, ordering, “Alright let’s g-”

 

A stampede of Stray Boyz suddenly rushes down the corridor, and Hongjoong actually jumps back, heart stuffed into his throat.

 

“They’re closer than we thought!” “Let’s go, let’s go-!” “Fuck.” “You got extra clips?” “Move!” Their shouts recede as the bound down the corridor. Down the corridor that they need to get down.

 

Well, there’s Mingi’s answer.

 

It occurs to Hongjoong that prior to breaking into the massive hangar crawling with gangsters hellbent on killing them, they ought to have a plan. His mind whirs with thoughts, slotting together pieces of everything he knows and everything he’d learned. 

 

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong says when the puzzle begins coming together, “You got a look at the ship schematic, right?”

 

“Uh, well it was more of a map,” The cyborg responds dubiously. “Why?”

 

“That hangar that pulled us in, it was open, right? Like- We saw people as we got pulled in. Like- What kind of barriers are in place, d’you think?”

 

Yeo nods, “It’s got a force field, probably. Basically negates the need for a traditional airlock. But I’m almost certain there’s also a solid barrier, too. Like a gate. I doubt they keep it open all the time. Bit risky having only some projected energy fields between people and the cold vacuum of space.”

 

“Right,” Hongjoong heard what he needed to. “A gate. How would we… Get this gate open?”

 

“Well,” Wooyoung steps forward, chiming in, “There’s gonna be a control for that in the hanger itself.”

 

“Think you two can get at it?” The captain asks, quirking an eyebrow (as he speaks, he checks over his shoulder every so often, just to assure they’re not caught).

 

“You mean like… Get into the system and open the gate?” Yeosang clarifies. Joong nods affirmatively. “Well, I mean- Yeah. But…”

 

“They’re not just gonna let us waltz up to their computer and open up the gate,” Jongho adds. He walks up to Yeosang and places a reassuring hand on the cyborg’s shoulder, “But that’s alright because I’ll protect you.”

 

“Me, too,” Wooyoung takes Yeosang’s other side. “I might be able to help with the systems as well.”

 

The captain speaks to his pilot, “We’re gonna need to prep the ship, too, aren’t we?”

 

Yunho nods, “Yeah. We’re gonna have to install the fuel cells. At least enough so we can get the fuck out.”

 

“That won’t take too long, will it?”

 

“Depends on how much interference we have,” The canis answers frankly.

 

So they need to get a gate open, and they need to assure the ship is prepped to make a big jump. Hongjoong goes over the bits and pieces yet again before he presents his plan:

 

“I know this sucks, but, um, I think it’s best if we split up again,” Hongjoong announces (still peeking over his shoulder periodically). “It’s not like we’ll be far. The hangar’s open, so we should all be able to have some visual. Jongho and Wooyoung are gonna go with Yeosang and cover him while he opens that gate. Yunho, Mingi, San and myself will get ATEEZ fueled up and ready to go. Hopefully, they won’t have put any weird locks on it. When she’s ready, we can even fly by and grab you guys if need be. Any questions? Any vehement opposition or- or other ideas?”

 

“Captain,” San pipes up hesitantly. “I will lend aid where needed, but I’m of little use on the ship. Why not allow me to protect Yeosang as well?”

 

“Your ankle has barely recovered,” Hongjoong responds with a frown. “I don’t want you in such an open position. Plus, I’ve got a feeling they won’t hand over the ship easily. I am sure you’ll be plenty of help.”

 

“I understand,” The siren relents with grace.

 

“Any other ideas? Concerns?” Hongjoong watches his distraught crew exchange concerned looks. “No dramatic love confessions?” He ventures a joke. “Because, like, if any of you have a crush on me-”

 

Finally, the nerves break a little bit. He gets a couple of snorts and a roll of the eyes from Jongho.

 

“-like anyone at all,” Joong smirks.

 

“Yes, captain,” Yeosang’s the first one to play along, dryly adding, “My overwhelming adoration of you is truly arresting. I find nothing more exhilarating than the thought of your tiny hands on my body.”

 

“Wh-” “Oh my god.” A few humored murmurs sound out from the others.

 

Hongjoong lets out a laugh, but it halts abruptly, “Wh- T-tiny hands?” That elicits even more laughs from the crew. The captain starts laughing, but the joy’s shortlived when it uproots the recent memory of someone else calling his hands tiny. 

 

“Okay, let’s- let’s do this,” He says with finality. He feels like they should do something. A group hug seems sort of excessive, and a team chant campy. However, leaving things at just “let’s go” feels a tad anticlimactic. It doesn’t lend gravity to the situation at hand.

 

Then again, perhaps it’s better that way. Just play it off, the captain thinks. If he acts like getting out successfully is an inevitability, maybe it’ll comfort the others and urge them to think the same.

 

“I’m hungry,” Hongjoong says, “So let’s not let anyone get in our way.”

 

Closing on that statement, the captain strides off in the direction of the hangar. He’s full of shit. He knows it. Yunho probably knows it. That doesn’t stop him from feigning utter and complete confidence. Who knows, things could turn out better than he expects. After all, with his shit luck, the captain’s due for some good karma.

 

Right?

 

* * *

 

Beads of sweat drop down Seonghwa’s brow as he slots himself between two tall servers as snugly as possible.

 

It’s begun.

 

The pandemonium, the frenzied attempts at keeping the incoming Coalition back. Seonghwa has been hearing it since the security  update, and if not for the darkness of his hiding spot, he’d likely already met his end. As convenient as hiding beneath the PC desk would’ve been, Seonghwa knew better than that. No doubt the beacon’s source would be traced. So, he had to move. 

 

Move he did, systemically, slowly. 

 

The officer hadn’t anticipated that they’d plaster his picture on every screen in the damn ship. That made maneuvering difficult. Even the most imbecile among the lot would be able to recognize him. To complicate matters further, the officer no longer had his chip. When the Coalition does convene on the ship, they may very well have clearance to shoot first, ask questions later. Hwa hardly could fault such an order given the circumstances. The Stray Boyz stronghold is armed to the teeth. Seonghwa highly doubts they will take the time to scan him prior to making any offensive moves. The only other method of GC verifiable identification he has is his badge.

 

The badge that’s with his uniform and all of the other affairs “Captain” Kim had lifted off of him upon his abduction. The badge that’s back in that godforsaken ship. A chill comes over Seonghwa as he thinks about that damn cell, how that tiny square of living space burned itself into his retinas. Part of him can’t let go of the silly fear that just going near that place will prompt it suck him back in magnetically. Like he can’t get away.

 

Seonghwa dashes the thought from his head. He has to focus. He’s got a few rounds left in the gun he’d lifted from the guard before. There might be a chance he can apprehend one on the sly, but with how fidgety everyone on the ship is, he doubts it. They’re all on red alert. Or, more aptly: black alert.

 

No matter. 

 

Composure in these situations is what Seonghwa trained for. Once he gets past this, things will finally change for the better - he knows it. Hell, in the most favorable of scenarios, his life changes drastically. While the aspirational images are most pleasing to contemplate, Hwa reels himself in.

 

Before any triumph or celebration, he needs to be present and recognized for the bust - not killed or mistaken for a lowly thug. In order to accomplish that, he needs his badge. Therefore, to the hangar he must go.

 

Seonghwa watches a throng of enemies trot on by and waits a few minutes before following them. He walks carefully, surveying the hall as he ejects the magazine from his gun. 

 

Four rounds in the mag - that’s all he’s got. 

 

No.

 

Make it three.

 

Three rounds in the mag. One is reserved special.

 

“Just for you, Kim Hongjoong,” Seonghwa thinks aloud as he slides the magazine back in with a click. “Just for y-”

 

_ “CRAASH!” “Cliiink.” “THUD-THUD!” _

 

The entire ship jostles, sending Seonghwa flying down the hall. A cacophony of panicked shouts and pained moans echo down the halls.

 

 “Wh-What the hell!?” “They’re here!” “Fuck!” “Forced entry incoming!”  _ “Wheeeee-! Wheee-!”  _ “Attention gentleman, it appears that our uninvited guests have very rudely arrived early. Please convene at your posts  _ immediately _ .” “Fuck!”  _ “Wheeee- Wheeeep!” “Diiiing-!” _ “Code blue.”

 

“Holy shit,” Seonghwa coughs out as he collects himself off the floor. He pats himself frantically, a rush of relief coming over him when he finds his gun. In spite of the dire circumstances, Seonghwa can’t find it in himself to feel too worried or distraught. 

 

Quite contrarian, his lips actually upturn into a smile.

 

“They’re here,” Seonghwa reassures himself.

 

Finally. The cavalry has arrived. The first bastion of normalcy he’s gotten in weeks - weeks that have drawn on to feel like months, years even. No more uncertainty and questioning, no more delusions or intrusive thoughts or doubting himself. Things can go back to the way they were - hell, they can be better. Things can go back to normal.

 

_ He  _ can go back to normal.

 

Once again, he can prosper in his day to day life in which things go as they ought to. A life in which all the t’s are crossed and the i’s dotted; where people understand their place.

 

All he needs is his badge.

 

“Fuck-! Incoming, incoming!” _ “Bang-bang!” “Zzzt!” _ More skirmishes bounce down the halls, fueling Seonghwa’s desire to join the fray and be on the right side of the fight.

 

Using the confusion as a veil, Seonghwa sprints toward the hangar, ready for the fight.

 

* * *

 

_ “Craaash!” _ “Shit.” _ “Thudd!!”  _ “Are you okay?” “Fff-” _ “Clang!!” _

 

ATEEZ’s crew falls on top of one another when the Anaconda lurches. The captain winces when he crashes into the railing of the stairs, nailing himself right in the ribs. The pain radiates throughout his entire body, and even breathing elicits a dull, all-over sort of pain. 

 

But there’s no time for pain.

 

Hongjoong grits his teeth and persists. Frantic yelling fills their ears as they peel themselves off the ground. They’d just arrived at the stairs leading down to the hangar. A few unfortunate Stray Boyz ended up taking the tragic, fast route down the stairs, tumbling over one another. Along with them, it sounded like all sorts of ships, bodies, and machines slid and bumped and teetered over. 

  
While Hongjoong typically favors strategizing and analyzing, he’s got no time. Fuck’s sake. He never seems to have time. Just once he would love to have time to figure things out. But no. Instead, he can only move forward with the hasty plan he’d cobbled together just minutes prior.

 

“D-Down here, let’s go,” Hongjoong commands the others, taking steps two at a time (and jumping over bodies of the unlucky ones who’d knocked themselves out). Just at the bottom of the narrow stairwell is the entrance to the open hangar. He can see the grated catwalk just meters away - where all the noise is coming from.

 

“Okay,” Hongjoong tells the others as they descend their last few steps. “Remember the plan. Yeo, Woo, and Jongho lift the gates. San, Mingi and Yunho with me, we need to install those fuel cells. Got it?”

 

“Got it.” “Yup.” “G-Got it.” “Mn.” A few grunts answer Hongjoong. The captain glances over his shoulder to assess his crew for an instant. Jongho is in decent shape, bless him. The circles beneath his eyes are darker than Joong had ever seen them, but he’s not dragging his feet. San appears rather strained. A cold, clammy sweat balms up his brow - though, of course, he makes a visible effort not to show it. Wooyoung’s wearing a faraway look in his eyes - like he’s thinking about somewhere or something else. Hongjoong doesn’t know how. What can possibly be more distracting than the present time? Yunho’s got a hand tightly interlaced with Mingi’s. That doesn’t surprise the captain one bit. The canis has a fierce protective streak. Plus, he adores Mingi. The Venusian has a frantic air about him; his pupils scuttle around apprehensively. Then there’s Yeosang, the picture of calm determination. 

  
They’re about as ready as they’ll ever be, Hongjoong figures. Nobody seems to be in dire need of attention which is good because he can’t really give it. There’ll be time for cuddling and licking their wounds later. 

 

Soon, Hongjoong thinks.

  
Soon.

 

The captain, being in front, is the first to emerge from the stairwell into the hangar. Bright light floods his vision, and he needs to blink a few times to even make out what’s happening. Everything sounds a hundred times louder. There’s so much sound; yet, none of it is decipherable. Joong hears strangled groans, shouts, barked orders, gunshots of the ballistic variety and electronic, zappy lasers. It all overlaps in an utterly chaotic, cacophonic din. Flashes of light strobe left and right - pistols, laser shooters, barrier fields and grenades. 

 

The captain - in spite of it all - pauses upon reaching the catwalk. His entire body just halts with awe as he witnesses the pandemonium unfold.

 

Apocalyptic.

 

That’s the word he would use to describe it.

 

The sight before him is absolutely apocalyptic. It’s like the end of worlds, watching gangsters and blackcoats clash, sparing no effort to violently end one another. The blackcoats - for all their alleged passion for due fairness - lend no mercy in their subjugation. Laser pistols glow an angry red; they’re set to malignant. They won’t kill immediately but instead maim. Heavily penetrate flesh and sear the living hell out of it, boiling the blood of any poor fucker misfortunate enough to find themselves in the crosshairs. The Stray Boyz fire back with good old fashioned lead. While far less sophisticated, it’s almost equally as effective.

 

And in the middle of it, there it sits. Their gleaming silver asylum amidst the mess: ATEEZ. Bodies bob and weave around the armored hull, using the wings and propulsors as cover. That’s where they have to go.

 

Shit.

 

“Oof-!” Hongjoong’s body jerks, suddenly colliding with- well, with something. A cluster of thugs run past - yes, actually past - him, thundering down the stairs to provide reinforcements. The collision wakes him up, kicking his nerves into high gear.

 

Swallowing his nerves down, he checks on his crew who’d fanned out at the railing. They all appear shocked and awed. Mingi, especially. This is definitely a far cry from Venus.

 

But that all has to wait.

 

“Remember the plan!” Hongjoong barks as loudly as he can, “Woo, Yeo, Jongho, find the controls. The rest of you, with me!”

 

“R-Right.” “Got it.” “Mhm.” The others nod hesitantly, each gradually waking up from their own daze.

 

“The craziness is actually working in our favor,” Hongjoong tells the others, observing the insanity below. “For now. Once we start lowering the ramp, they’re gonna know something’s up. Let’s go.”

 

With a nod, he prompts his squad to follow him and starts descending the stairs. The captain rushes down as fast as he safely can with the other two at his heels. He can hear the other group following shortly after. While he’d love to stick with them as closely as possible, be there and reassure them, he focuses on his task instead.

 

Their ship is sitting in the exact same place that they left it hours ago. Shit. How long has it been? It feels like it’s been more than a day, but that can’t be right. They’re all probably running on fumes and adrenaline at this point. Honestly, Hongjoong doesn’t even know anymore. He doesn’t care to know, either.

 

His vision tunnels on their mechanical respite as he leads the others down the impossibly tall stairs onto the bottom level. In seconds they’ll be entering the fray, and the obscurity lent to them by the chaos will completely dissipate. The question is: who will get to them first? 

 

In his peripherals, Hongjoong notices the other group to the side, probably seeking out the hangar’s control hub. Joong has never been real religious, but he mutters a prayer for them. That’s about all he can give them right now.

 

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, it’s absolute pandemonium. At least from above, their bird’s eye lent them decent perspective. In the thick of it, all Hongjoong sees is tangled bodies, blackcoats versus black hoodies. There’s really no way around it. Even the most roundabout path around the perimeter of the space would likely lead them through peril.

  
So, might as well go for the straight shot.

 

“Straight through,” Hongjoong orders the others, who’d stopped behind him. He gets incredulous looks from Mingi and Yunho. San simply nods. 

  
The captain takes a single deep breath, even shutting his eyes to ground himself. He’s aware that, logically, this is a terrible move. However, given what he’s about to go into, he feels he needs the moment. Just one - a single breath dedicated to thanking his crew and the powers that be for getting him so far, mental preparation.

 

That single instance stretches out into something languid and reflective. The noise dulls and the world fades.

 

He doesn’t lavish in that serenity. He allows that instant to dissipate after its second duration. Time is a luxury that he cannot afford. 

 

“Let’s go,” He tells the others, breaking out into a run. Above all the madness, ATEEZ stands proud and true. Calm, almost. For all the lasers and bullets zooming past it - even skidding across its hull - the ship stands unwavering. It imposes itself upon the chaos like a beacon of security, refusing to give in or indulge the humans skittering about its wings. There’s a poetry to it, Hongjoong thinks. About the way that machine does not move without man. About how they all weave, bob, and duck under laser bolts and skirmishes while the ship merely awaits its masters. It does not rush, cower, shout profanities or make threats. It is their solace, and Hongjoong bounds toward it with all his might.

 

Of course, reaching such security was never going to be easy.

 

_ “Zzzzzt!” _

 

Sweltering heat zips past Hongjoong’s cheek, making his heart drop. Eyes wide he pivots to see where it’d come from. A blackcoat shouts something in their direction. Some vague threat, something generic, probably. If Hongjoong cared enough to make the words out over the general din bouncing around the hangar, he’d figure it out. He imagines the words “arrest” or “stand down” were there. Then again, the lasers are red, so at this point maybe they’re just straight-up saying “die”.

 

Whatever the case, their little bubble of distraction has popped, and now it’s time to fight. ATEEZ is thirty, maybe forty meters away. That’s thirty to forty meters of pompous blackcoats and gunslinging gangsters to get through. 

 

“Captain!” Yunho shouts, trotting up to Joong’s side. “From the left, they’re coming-!”

 

“Yunho, how fast do you think you can get those fuel cells installed?”

 

“Wh-? Uh-” The canis’s words drop off when a blackcoat runs at them from the side. Hongjoong ducks, and Yunho kicks out in front of him. The sorry fucker probably hadn’t expected the long leg to come jutting out just at groin level, and he crumbles to the ground with a groan.

 

“F-Five minutes, maybe?” Yunho finally finishes his response.

 

“San!” Hongjoong checks for the siren over his shoulder. He catches a glimpse of the other at work, whispering something in an attacker’s ear before throwing them to the ground. The blackcoat doesn’t get up after that.

 

Attention roused, the siren tilts his head inquisitively at his captain.

 

“San, C’mere. You with me! We bring up the rear, distract while Yunho and Mingi get on to the ship. Sound okay?”

 

San nods in response, crossing over to convene at the captain’s position.   
  


“Wait- You want us to- to split?” Yunho asks.

 

“The faster the better,” Hongjoong replies. “We’ve got your back- Now go! Hurry!” He urges the canis and Venusian to run. Mingi is still dressed like one of them, and Yunho - well, he’s not necessarily stealthy. However, if Joong and San make enough of a scene, they ought to be able to slip through.

 

“Go, go!” This isn’t a matter of debate, something Joong impresses upon the crew as he urges them forward. After exchanging a few nervous looks, Yunho and Mingi follow the order and rush on. San and Hongjoong exchange looks of understanding. They need to do everything they can to assure the others reach the ship, ASAP.

 

As the two start rousing fights in the wake of their running comrades, Hongjoong’s mind briefly wanders. He hopes the others on gate duty are okay.

 

* * *

 

“Jongho, on the right!” Wooyoung hollers to the youngest beside him.

 

Jongho raises his brows, head whipping to the side to see two blackcoats coming at him. The youngest handles the pair with ease, sending one flying with a kick and literally throwing the other. God. The power he holds. If it wasn’t for the dozens of other people running at them like starved strays after a meal, Woo would stop and gawk at the other. Alas, the Stray Boy cocking a gun just centimeters away demands more immediate attention.

 

Wooyoung takes the initiative to grab the other. He grips the gangster’s wrist in a vice, tugging at the gun. The two exchange curses as the barrel bumps dangerously into Woo’s face. Swiping a foot under his pursuer’s ankle, Wooyoung brings the unsuspecting thug down. He snatches the gun out of the air before it falls and points it at the thug. 

 

Thankfully, the guy’s not too foolhardy. He holds hands up and starts scuttling away pathetically. As he should. No need to throw one’s life away for this. In truth, Woo would never dream of pulling the trigger, anyways. At least, not in a life-ending way. He couldn’t bear that.

 

The group of three branched off from the others at the bottom of the stairs. Big hangars are usually equipped with multiple control centers, and this one turned out to be no different. They hung a left and sprinted toward the far corner. With the power of logical deduction and dumb luck, they found a hub completely unoccupied with little interference.

 

Well, there was little interference.

 

Woo doesn’t know who saw them first: the blackcoats or the Stray Boyz. Either way, once someone noticed that someone was trying something funny at the PC console, that was it. Yeosang had just barely gotten into the system when the first wave of assholes came barrelling at them. 

 

“-ou! Stop it!” “What’re they doing? They’re going to blow us up!” “Bang! Bang-bang!” _ “Zzzt-!” _ “You, stop right there!”  _ “Zzzt-zzzt!” “Pew!” “Bang!” _ “No, you stop-” “Fuck, what’re they doing-” _“Bang!”_ _ “Boom!” “Thud-thud!”  _ “Ff- Are they ramming the ship?!” “Cease your resistance!” _ “Bang!” “Craaash!” _

 

Unlike the PVE video games Wooyoung always enjoyed as a kid, their enemies don’t come in organized, timed waves. They just sort of swarm. It’s more like a zombie movie than anything else. Even more disheartening is the knowledge that more and more are coming in from the main body of the ship, too. Apparently, the hangar’s the hot place to be.

 

Woo trots back toward Yeosang, eyes darting between the PC console and their surroundings, “H-How’s it going here?”

 

Yeosang furrows his brows at the hovering screen, “Slow. Typing with one hand.”

  
“Uh right uh- Shit-” Out of the corner of his vision, Woo sees a silhouette rise from the corner of his eye. The ex-blackout jumps over the console and unloads a couple of shots toward their new friend’s feet.

 

_ “Bang-bang!” _ The bullets squeak as they bounce off of metal, making the blackcoat dance. 

 

“I-I’m gonna advise you to stand down!” The blackcoat tries to be menacing. Wooyoung would be immensely humored by the effort under different circumstances. However, in this case, it just further frazzles his already frayed nerves. He’s gotta make sure Yeosang is okay, cover Jongho’s ass, not to mention agonizing over whether the others are alright.

 

“Bang!” Wooyoung shoots again off to the side. Just enough so the guy feels the heat.

 

“Fine,” The blackcoat barks. “Have it your way.” He waves, and suddenly a whole squadron of the fuckers swarm out of nowhere. 

 

Fuck.

 

At least Jongho seems to be doing alright. Unlike Woo, who’s getting backed up against a wall, the youngest has almost a bubble around him. The radius of felled bodies around him is a testament to his awesome power. Wooyoung wishes he had that power, but now’s no time to dwell on his shortcomings. He ejects the mag for the gun he’d swiped and frowns. Only a few bullets left. More than a few blackcoats coming for him. God, how are there so many? Seriously? Are they crawling in through the vents?

 

“Bang!” Another deterrent shot, really. It does fuck all, though. Woo eyes the PC console just a couple of meters away. Sweat drips down Yeo’s brow as he types fervently while scanning their surroundings. No doubt their attention will be on him soon. 

 

“Bang!” The shot gets a few looks from the dozen or so blackcoats. Instead of deterring them, though, it only urges them forward. They loom over him, a dark amalgam of sneers and laser pistols. 

 

Woo glances at Yeosang again. He doesn’t know why; the cyborg sure as hell isn’t gonna bail him out. The poor fucker’s typing with one hand. Jongho, while impressive, still has his own shit (read: pursuers) to handle.

 

Wooyoung doesn’t hate the idea of charging the crowd - going low, knocking them around a bit before they can think to shoot. It’s risky. He’s not sure how fast their reactions are. While guns are all swell and dandy, the thought of carelessly firing off lead bullets irks him. It’s times like this that Woo wishes swords were still a thing. Even a knife would be handy. He could dive for a few achilles and definitely disorient them then. A bludgeoning weapon could even be favorable.

 

Woo’s mind reels as he goes through all of the combat knowledge he’d gleaned from years in the academy and on the streets. He checks on Yeosang again, and his heart seizes up. There’s more of them. Not just in their little corner of the hanger - but everywhere. More bodies. Stray Kid, Boy, blackcoat. They’re all flooding the place like it’s raining money or something.

 

“Wait-! Yeosang!” Wooyoung jumps toward the other as someone - Woo can’t even tell what affiliation at this point - jumps toward the cyborg. 

 

Yeo’s eyes go wide, and he gasps. _“Zzzzt!” “Zzzzt-zzt!”_ A few lasers fire off somewhere in their vicinity. Thankfully, Woo’s reflexes were fast enough.

 

“Sorry!” Woo apologizes to the cyborg he’d basically tackled down impishly. Yeo gives him a dirty look, but the irritation is curbed when he notices the blackcoat looming above the pair. Woo puts it upon himself to end the guy, bursting up from his spot and nailing the guy on the chin with his skull. 

 

He hears a hiss and a groan but doesn’t wait to see the other’s reaction before punching him square on the temple. The guy reels back but is surprisingly resilient. He hangs on, giving Woo a scowl.

 

Yeosang, in the meanwhile, peels himself off the ground and starts at the console again.

 

“I’m shutting off the hangar!” He shouts to Woo as he taps manically on the keyboard.

 

“You- What?!” Wooyoung’s brows furrow with confusion as he blocks a punch and grabs the blackcoat’s wrist. 

 

“There’s too many damn people here, I’m-!” Yeo presses a button triumphantly, and a loud buzz plays through the loudspeakers.

 

“Attention,” A robotic voice intonates, its cool tone contrasting massively with the rapture unfolding below, “Hangar C-6 lockdown activated. Please steer clear of all doors feeding in from the ship. All entry and exit will be prohibited until override. Repeat. Hanger C-6 lockdown activated. Please steer clear of all doors feeding in from the ship. All entry and…”

 

“Doing that,” Yeosang finishes. “Too many damn people coming in. At least now the constant flow will stop- at least until it’s overridden.”

 

“Wait-!” “Lockdown?” “Huh?” “Who- Who did that?” A few puzzled shouts puncture the general noise. 

 

“H-How long will that take?” Woo asks as he grapples with the blackcoat in front of him. They’re persistent fuckers. Unlike the gangsters, they’re loyal to a fault, happy to kill or die for their cause. Wooyoung feels a profound disgust when he thinks about how he used to buy into that shit.

 

Yeosang keeps at it, “We’ve got at least ten minutes,” He says as he types frantically. “I’ve almost got the external gate, though, then we can-” They cyborg’s eyes blow wide open, and he ducks. Not a second later, a bullet flies through the projected screen. The picture distorts, and the sound of lead plowing into metal booms behind them. 

 

“F-Fuck!” Woo curses as even Jongho starts getting overwhelmed. It’s just the sheer numbers. What’s three of them versus three dozen of them? And counting? The doors are locking down, but what about the ones that’ve already slipped in?

 

Before Woo can even think again, a pair of thugs start climbing over the console table. He panics and turns to Yeosang.

 

“Uh- Uh- Can I borrow this?!” He squeaks. Yeosang starts asking what the fuck he’s talking about, but one of the guys is halfway on top of the desk. Wooyoung yanks Yeo’s loose arm off of his back and-

 

_ “Thwaaaak!” _

 

Woo can actually see stars spin above the thug’s head as his body slumps, draping itself over the console awkwardly. 

 

“Holy shit, dude,” Woo can’t help gawking at the severed augment, tossing it in his hand for a second. It’s got a surprising heft to it. For some reason, Wooyoung assumed it’d be, like, feather-light. However, it seems like Yeo actually purposely weighed it down to feel more like a natural limb. “This thing’s serious.”

 

“Remind me to give you the finger when I’m not using my  _ one hand _ for typing,” Yeosang growls. 

 

Woo eyes the cybernetic arm and the throng charging toward them, “This… Might do just the trick.”

 

“Wh- Wooyoung don’t you fucking dare-”

 

“Thanks, Yeosang-”  _ “Thwaaak!” _ “-Good luck with the- uh- thing!”

 

Wooyoung isn’t willing to just off people with a gun - but minor concussions with a severed cyborg arm? That’ll do nicely. Wooyoung leaps over the console and puts himself in the thick of it. At this point, he’s not sure if anyone’s actually discerning anything. It’s blackcoats versus everyone else. Bullets and lasers fly in all directions, and sometimes they zoom so close to Wooyoung’s face, he can feel their heat trails.

 

_ “Thwaaack!” _ And there’s another one square across the head. That’s the thing with guns. They give the wrong people a sense of security. They think just because they’ve got the more powerful weapon that they can make mistakes. That’s what allows Wooyoung to sneak up on them, knock them over the head or trip them at the ankles.

 

His keen awareness is also what enables him to hit the ground when a body flies his way. He gapes in the direction it came from. At this point, Jongho has to pursue people his goddamn self. It’s a terrifying sight, and Wooyoung feels so, so damn grateful that the kid’s on his side.

 

There’s a story there, and the more Wooyoung gets to know Choi Jongho, the more he wants to ask. 

 

Maybe one day he will.

 

But not today.

 

Definitely not today.

 

* * *

 

Dull pain runs up the siren’s ankle, causing even his hips to twinge with discomfort. He grits his teeth and fights through the pain - literally. Just ahead, Yunho and Mingi rush into ATEEZ and begin preparations for their departure. He knows nothing of spacecrafts and prays that the process will be as quick as they allege.

 

He and the captain stand with backs to one another, dodging shots and intercepting anyone who so much as looks at the loading ramp. The loud drone of alarms and security alerts nullify San’s vocal potency. He’s fairly certain any attempt would be drowned out and, thus, be a waste of time. Luckily, there’s years of training to back him up. 

 

It’s different, out of the sea. The lack of resistance makes everything hit heavier and faster. Sure, he’d trained in air chambers, but the reality feels so , so much more different and chaotic. In theory, this is the exact type of situation he ought to be prepared for. The chief and all of the combat masters spun tales of widespread invasions and overwhelming numbers. In hindsight, that’s absolutely ridiculous. Where, exactly would these massive battles transpire? On the tiny rock in the sea they called an island? Not to mention humans hadn’t landed on Ubureru for at least a century. (At least, not to his knowledge). 

 

Yet here he stands: fighting for the life of himself and his human comrades, utilizing the training he’d received from the very people who’d exiled him. 

 

“Y-You alright?” Hongjoong asks the siren over his shoulder. 

 

“So far. They better get the ship ready fast, though,” San responds. “All these bullets and lasers flying everywhere, I feel like it’s only a matter of time until-”

 

_ “Boooom!!” _

 

A bright flare of light followed by a plume of smoke ignites. Electric discharge skitters around the edge of the impact point.  Though San isn’t thrown off his feet, he can feel the residual force kick him back slightly. Those closer to the explosion had not been so lucky. San sees a couple of bodies crash to the ground in a radius. Anxiety swells in the siren’s chest. He’s unfamiliar with a lot of weaponry. What could it be? An explosive of some sort? He’s no expert, but unleashing such a thing inside a ship seems incredibly risky.

 

Apparently, someone doesn’t care.

 

_ “Boooom!” _ Another ignition, followed by another small explosion. This one, even closer. San isn’t the only one taken aback. People around him - blackcoats and thugs alike - cower at the demonstration of insane firepower. The chaotic collective pauses just to observe and wonder: who is the maniac behind all of this?

 

The sea of bodies parts fearfully as an imposing figure cocks the most massive gun San had ever set eyes on. Flames set alight by his weapon billow around him. 

 

“Captain, get in the ship,” San tells the other. 

 

“I- Wh-Wha-?! Fuck-” Hongjoong curses, distracted by a blackcoat trotting toward them. He kicks the officer in the stomach, but the blackcoat grabs him by the ankle.

  
San pivots on his heel and grabs the Coalition operative by the throat. Squeezing on the airpipe, he leans in and whispers a command for only that human to hear:

 

“Sleep now.”

 

Delivered at just the right frequency, the intonation knocks out the other human with ease. The blackcoat drops, and Hongjoong lets out a sigh of relief. 

 

“Boooom!!”

 

That one’s louder than ever, and San stumbles. He’s getting closer.

 

“Captain- Captain in the ship,” San tells the other. He knows it’s not his place to give orders, but he feels it necessary. Hongjoong is the heart, the leader. If he goes down, the rest of ATEEZ will crumble away bit by bit.

 

“Wh- No, I- I can help y- Ff-” The captain ducks - as does San - and the two are narrowly missed by a fizzling laser bolt. It fires past them in the direction of the heavily armed gangster. He merely blocks the shot with his gun nonchalantly. San assumed the arm would sustain some sort of damage, however it actually appears to absorb the power instead. The siren’s stomach lurches at the sight. Should that be turned on him - or his comrades - they’d be goners. 

 

“Shit,” Hongjoong hisses again. 

 

Once again, the loudspeakers across the hangar rouse to life with yet another message:

 

“Activating atmospheric barrier field. Inner Gate opening. Please steer clear. Activating barrier field…”

 

“Wh- What is that?” San asks worriedly. He heard a lot of words and understood not even half of them.   
  


“That’s the, uh- The gate!” Hongjoong looks out toward the massive gate spanning the wall opposite they’d come in. A mechanical hum reverberates through the metal walls, and slowly, the horizontally divided halves of the gate part. “Fuck- Fuck yeah!” The captain grins.

 

A litany of curses sound out from both blackcoat and felon alike. As the gate gradually opens, San catches a sideward glance. His jaw drops. Even through the slight crack expanding, he makes out a battle just as fierce outside. Metallic shapes zip and zoom about, firing lasers and large, large ballistic bullets. “Missiles?” or perhaps “rockets” - San doesn’t quite recall. The visual of the pyrotechnic display is absolutely astonishing, but even more so is the complete lack of sound. He feels as if he’s watching a moving picture on mute.

 

“G-Get in!” A voice hollers from the direction of ATEEZ. San rouses himself from distraction and sees Mingi waving the pair of them in frantically. 

 

“Uh- Right,” Hongjoong shouts back, nodding to San. “Let’s go.”

 

_ “Clo-clock.” _ A weapon cocking behind the siren alerts him to someone’s presence. San turns around, and his heart drops. That man is pointing that thing in their direction.

 

Without a second thought, San shoves Hongjoong toward the loaning ramp and ducks. No sooner does he hear the thunderous boom of the ignition. He just barely makes out two gigantic shells dropping from the barrel. How the hell can a normal hume handle such force? The kickback of that monstrous weapon must rival the force of a moving vehicle. It’s like some hellish spawn of a machine gun and a double-barreled shotgun.

 

“You!” The gun-wielding maniac bellows, directly acknowledging ATEEZ and all of those scampering onto its loading ramp. He looks familiar. Judging by the deference of the non-blackcoats around him and his general aura of imposition, he’s probably a leader. More properly: the leader.

 

“S-San!” “Sannie!” Hongjoong and Mingi call from the loading ramp. “Get in here-” “What’re you doing?”

 

The siren’s pupils dart between his crew on the ramp, the man with the machine gun, and everyone else around them. Behind ATEEZ, the gate’s nearly all the way open. That means the others must be heading over to meet them - right? If so, then him retreating to the ship may put them at the end of the leader’s massive weapon.

 

“I need to cover for the others!” The siren says decidedly.

 

“WH-” “Are you fucking serious?!”

 

“Well in’t that sweet,” The silver-blond leader snarks.  _ “Clo-clock,”  _ He readies the gun again. “While I appreciate a man with guts, they’re usually the ones who die first.” He starts striding toward the siren, almost lackadaisical, even slinging the arm over his shoulder. 

 

“I’m no man,” San sizes up his opponent. He seems hardy, probably no slouch in combat either. But without that weapon - and with his ears exposed - he’s no match, San decides. He finishes: “I’m a siren.”

 

The leader just grunts in response. San can see the motion from miles away, seconds ahead, as the blond makes the move to wield his gun yet again. The siren dives toward the side as a resounding “boom!” erupts from the barrel. He hits the floor just in time, feeling the rippling hotness fly past before making contact meters behind. The siren wastes not a second jumping to his feet to pursue the leader in close combat - the place where he has an advantage.

 

Just as San lunges into his first position, a hoard of blackcoats mars his vision. Through the crowd of bellowing black, San makes out the confounded expression of the leader as well. Figures. The Coalition doesn’t abide by honor codes nor understand the merits and values of combat. No, they simply prefer to throw bodies at any given situation with no regards for tactic or appreciation for the sacrifices of those around. 

 

Huffing angrily, San runs through, tossing shoulders into everyone he can. One of the Coalition parasites grabs for the siren, yanking him off balance.

 

“Wh-!” San yelps, tripping backward. Cool metal presses into the small of his back, and he grits his teeth in preparation for acute, burning pain.

  
_ “Craack!” _ The siren jumps at the hollow noise. 

  
“U-Urgh-” The soldier who’d had a hold on him abruptly falls, limp. San nearly falls with him, staggering back onto balance. Dazedly trying to find his savior, he can’t contain his shock upon seeing a bloodied double-barrel looming just above the downed blackcoat. 

 

San gawks, “Wh-” His inquiry’s abruptly cut short. Blackcoats begin to surround them, apparently feeling bolder in spite of the leader’s clear weapons advantage. San supposes they perceive his lack of armor as a weakness. So, of course, they’ve opted to all assemble their focus on the biggest threat in hopes of neutralizing them. Typical.

 

The Stray Boyz leader whips his gun around, knocking another in front of him off their feet, and San mimics the maneuver, using his leg as a weapon. Their standoff can wait. Hell, if this stalls enough to get the others onboard safely, San will be more than happy to stand back to back with the surly mobster.

 

_ “Thwaak!” “Thud-thud-” “Booom!” _ “Steer clear of the atmospheric field while the inner gate is open…” “Disarm the target-!” “Fuck-!” “-override in progress. Doors will be unlocked in ten minutes-” “Uff-” _ “Wheeeee! Wheeeeee!”  _ “Boom!!”

 

Blackcoats crowd the hangar so densely, San momentarily fears it’s his vision is fading. It isn’t, though. It’s simply that every single blackcoat in the damn hangar has genuinely opted to converge on them. At this point, he’s practically glued to the leader’s side. Getting out and letting the blackcoats act as cover isn’t an option. Every time San attempts to make a move toward ATEEZ, his collar gets tugged or his beltloops grabbed.

 

Unease and ire roil in his guts, melding into something almost indiscernible. Utterly frazzled, San funnels the energy into outward aggression. Without the intervention of water, his movesets feel infinitely more swift. Half of the poor saps can’t even unleash fire. They’re either too close to one of their comrades, or they’re just not quick enough to retaliate to San’s reflexes. 

 

What pitiful excuses for warriors.

 

It’s ironic - San muses as he pivots on his heel, kicking one of the blackcoats square in the face - how incredibly different he is from the man just behind him. San employs fast, fluid movement whereas the other takes his time - almost lax. He’s quick with blocks, yes, but he fears none, absorbing everything only to fire it back tenfold. Be it colossal firepower or the honed skillset of a water warrior, San doesn’t care as long as it gets the job done. And, after what feels like forever, the crowd genuinely starts to thin. Perhaps the blackcoats have hit their limit. San wishes he could celebrate, but the departure of the Coalition distraction brings to light a most dire consequence.

 

“Where were we again?” The curly-haired blond asks, resting his massive gun over the back of his shoulder again. 

 

San spins around, swallowing hard and backing away, “You’re going to let us go.”

 

“Hm. I don’t think so.”

 

The siren takes a deep breath, projecting his voice more and catching the other’s gaze, “You’re going to let us go.”

 

“How’s about this,” The leader responds, unmoved. Is the room still too loud? San feels wary about getting too close, but it might be the only way. It irks him to think he may have to resort to his most practiced skillset. Still, if it must be done… 

 

The leader continues, “I like you. You’ve got guts and some sick moves.”

 

“Sick?” San’s brows furrow, baffled.

 

“Your fighting’s real smooth and pretty, not to mention your-” He pointedly eyes San’s throat, “-other more distinguished skillsets.”

 

The siren’s mouth presses into a thin line. He nearly trips over a knocked out blackcoat as he continues stepping back from the other’s slack advance.

 

“Watched some footage on my way down,” The blond elaborates. “Wanted to see how the fuck all of this-” He waves to the pandemonium around them, “-happened. You’re a sharp one, now, aren’t you?”

 

“Back off,” San growls at the other.

 

“Getting off the gag- the  _ real  _ good gag, by the way- now that? That was quite clever. Then that little song that drove my boys crazy? You’ve got quite an impressive set of pipes. I bet you could do a lot with that throat of yours.” The gang leader has the gall to smirk at that. Lech.

 

“I said back  _ off _ ,” San says more loudly, more insistently. Why isn’t he listening?

 

“And even when faced with this-” He points his huge gun at San, “-you’ve still got fight in you. See- That’s why I would like to extend you a seldom granted, once in a lifetime invitation to be a member of my crew.”

 

“What?!” San guffaws in offense. “I- Wh- No.”

 

“C’mon, Sannie-”

 

“Do  _ not  _ call me that!” 

 

“-Your skills could get you  _ so much more _ than that little boat.”

 

“I- I said stop,” San barks. “ _ Stop _ . Let us go!” He exclaims.

 

“Wh- Aw, pet,” The leader just chuckles. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I saw your little tricks.” He tilts his head to the side, and at first, San doesn’t understand what the hell he means by it. “In-ears.” He snickers.

 

With all the insanity unfolding, San hadn’t thought to look at the other’s ears. Panic pierces his heart as the other lunges forward, pressing that huge double-barrel into his torso. With an almost childlike joy, the leader runs the metal - still warm from so many discharges - up his stomach and chest, settling just at the junction of San’s jaw and throat.

 

“Pity,” The leader fakes a sad sigh. “We could’ve made a great team.”

 

“W-Wait-” San stutters. Even if he can’t use his abilities to their fullest, he’s still confident in his way with words. 

 

“Mmm-mmm,” Damn. The leader’s not having it. “You had your chance. Now- Trust me, nobody’s sadder than I. I mean, what a waste, but, you’re too much of a liability. So, night night-”

 

_ “Thud!” _

 

The leader’s face wrinkles with agony, and he stumbles forward. The gun drops from San’s neck, but the guy manages to maintain a loose grip on it. Both San and the blond glance over the other’s shoulder to see just what the hell hit him.

 

_ “Thwack!” _

 

“San, what the hell are you doing?!” Jongho hollers at the siren after planting his foot square on the leader’s back. The guy falls forward, catching himself on the gun. He appears dazed but is astoundingly conscious. That’s more than most can say after one of Jongho’s punches. No wonder he’s the leader.

 

“San!” “San, are you okay?!” Wooyoung and Yeosang rush to the siren’s side to worry over him.

 

“Um, I- I’m fine. I’m really okay.”

 

“You- You what?!” Wooyoung grabs San by the collar and starts berating him with wide, almost manic eyes, “You just- just nearly took a- a rocket to the throat. Not to mention your- you- your bruises and- and cuts like- How do you- You-” The hume clutches the siren’s collar with white knuckles, “You just ran in by yourself. How can you be so- so reckless?!”

 

San’s mind momentarily goes blank. When it’s laid out like that, it does sound mad. But, it’s what he had to do. It isn’t until just now - when things have slowed down ever so slightly - that he even registers pain at all. The rush of the fight dulled everything. He’d been so focused, so determined.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Hongjoong storms over from the loading ramp not six meters away. “All of you, in. Now-”

 

Reality floods back into the siren’s consciousness, and he assesses the current situation. The loading ramp is lowered, and everyone’s here. Jongho is holding the Stray Boyz leader by the nape while Yeosang jogs over to the ship - likely to assure that all things mechanical are well. Wooyoung is… Bruised. There’s blood on his clothing - hopefully, none of it his own. He’s glaring at San with concerned eyes and shaking him by the collar. The first thing San does when he moves is throwing Wooyoung’s hands off of him. 

 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, captain,” San says. “I’ll board.” He starts striding toward the ship without another word. 

 

“Fffuu-” A wet, slurred sounding curse punctuates the noise, prompting San to peek over his shoulder.

 

It’s their leader again, “F-Fuck,” The guy curses. Except, he’s not looking at Jongho, who’s got a steady hold on him, or even Hongjoong who’s the leader of the crew that brought his mighty crew to its knees. No, he is looking…

 

Up?

 

Curious, San follows the man’s gaze. Up, up, up - all the way up the tiers of grated catwalks running along the hanger. Up to the one at the very tippy top. San imagines it’d be quite the vantage point from which to spectate all of the bedlam. At first, the siren can’t tell what on earth the other would be searching for. It’s likely he’s gone mad - perhaps a few too many blows to the head have taken their toll, but then- No. No, the leader is not mad.

 

San squints.

 

There’s someone up there. A single figure stands, leaning over the railing. Are they… Observing? For what?

 

“Fuck!” The leader shouts again, his words wet and thick like the blood gushing from his nose. He makes a move to stand, but the effort is quickly met with retaliation from Jongho. “No- Fuck! Lemme- Lemme-” The blond grits his teeth, his face contorted with pain. “Him. It’s- It’s his fucking fault. He- He set the feds on us. I’m… I’m gon’ get him. The fuckin’ prettyboy bastard’s gotta pay.”   
  


Now that he mentions it, that head of platinum blond is rather distinct. The siren’s brows raise with recognition, and for some reason, he can’t help but look at the captain. 

 

“Guys,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds eerily calm amidst the craziness. His gaze is fixed up there, on that catwalk - on the man watching from it. “I’ve got one more thing to do.”

 

“What?” “What?!” “Oh- Fuck no, you aren’t seriously-”

 

“It’ll be quick,” Hongjoong’s feet are already carrying him forward. “Just start the ship, pick up me up from the catwalk like last time.”

 

“Wh- Last time?” “You mean like when we broke out of fucking prison?!” “Captain-!”

 

“Fuck off!” The leader hollers. “He’s mine. He’s mi- Ffff-” Another wave of pain visibly crashes over the leader. He stubbornly stands up regardless, leaning heavily on his giant gun as he takes ragged breaths to steel himself.

 

“Wh-” “Fuck-” “J-Jongho, hold him-!” “W-We need to protect the ship, they won’t take long to notice-”

 

“Jongho, take his in-ear out,” San tells the other, “Quickly.”

 

“Uh- Right,” The young hume follows the order.

 

San watches the insanity persist around them. The blackcoats seem preoccupied with the remaining gangsters. He prays that the minutes they’ve bought will give them enough time to get out. Jongho does as he’s told and pops out the in-ear. The leader can barely resist as the youngest holds him down while San leans in. It doesn’t matter what he says, really, it’s all about the frequency of the voice. Sure, he’d been taught that words have power. Words ought to match the frequency and intention. They say that doing so enhances the power of the siren’s calls; but there’s no science to back that up, only superstition.

 

So, without regrets, he whispers, “I am not, nor will I  _ ever  _ be, a tool for the use of man.  _ Especially  _ you.” He huffs as he stands up, not caring if the guy smacks his head against the metal as he conks out. 

 

“Okay,” Mingi worries at his lower lip. It looks bloodied, actually, and San wonders if it’s from fighting or self-inflicted. The siren gives the other a grateful smile as he files onto the loading ramp. “Everyone on, everyone on- where’s the captain?”

 

Wait.

 

Where is the captain?

 

All present in the loading bay turn around and check for their beloved, brave captain. Yet, he’s nowhere to be found. A panic rises between them as they check the immediate area frantically. What if he’d been shot down without them even noticing? Had he retreated into the ship already? Is he hiding beneath the ramp?

 

It’s Wooyoung who catches a glimpse of the captain’s petite figure bounding up the stairs they’d come from.

 

“He’s going after him,” Woo mutters, sounding both dismayed and awed.

 

“No.” “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” “That’s- That’s suicide.” “We need to go-”

 

_ “Zzzzt-!” “Zzzt-Zzzt!” _ Laser bolts shoot into the bay, interrupting their lamentations. San hits the floor (wincing as he roughly makes contact with the metal) to avoid an incoming bolt. Thankfully, the others managed to evade as well.

 

“We’ll go with his plan,” Wooyoung tells the others decisively. “Get the ship started, lower the ramp for him up there.”

 

“Wh-” “But-” “Shouldn’t we ask-”

 

Wooyoung’s typical amiable nature is nowhere to be found. He turns on his heel, striding into the ship. With an unwavering tone of authority, he barks: “I’m the first mate. We’re following his plan. So close the ramp before anyone else decides to use us for target practice.”

 

“Uh- B-But-” “O-Okay-”

 

“ _ Now _ ,” Wooyoung insists sternly. Mingi makes haste in obliging the order, and soon the craziness in the hangar dulls to a faint echo across ATEEZ’s hull. 

 

“You,” Wooyoung looks pointedly at San. “Infirmary. Rest.”

 

“Wh- But I’m-”

 

“Not a question,” The hume imparts gruffly before bounding up the steps to the bridge - two at a time.

 

San bites down on his lip hard to curb the resistance that wants so badly to jump out. Wooyoung _does_ outrank him - in title and general experience. But taking orders from him? It spurns the siren to take orders from a man. Or, perhaps more rightly: it spurns him to take orders from  _ that  _ man. 

 

However, he must concede that Wooyoung had a point regarding his injuries. As the rush of battle flushed out of San’s veins, pain set in. His ankle throbs and pain persistently scratches at his throat. Myriad little pains roll into a generalized, full-body ache. He’s no good to his fellow crew in such a state. Even the slightest bit of rest ought to help - so San opts to oblige just that. 

 

“Yes… Wooyoung,” San’s gut reaction would be “chief” or “master” or even “captain”. Wooyoung is none of those things, so he opts for the hume’s name. 

 

The first mate softens slightly and nods, “Go get some rest. Jongho, see to it he’s safe and set. Yeo, Mingi, let’s meet Yunho at the bridge. We’ve still got a few before the new fuel cells are all warmed up and ready...” The others mutter affirmations and begin branching off. 

 

San’s gaze unintentionally lingers on Wooyoung as they split. It’s by far the most assured he’s seen the other before. Who knew he’d be so formidable in his element? It’s… Becoming of him, San decides. Though he’d never dare speak the praise.

 

“Can I get my arm back now?” Yeosang asks Wooyoung dryly.

 

With that, the tensity in the air cracks. San halts abruptly, craning his neck to gawk at Wooyoung who’s halfway up the stairs. He hadn’t even noticed but, by Poseidon, that is an arm in his grasp. 

 

“Wh- O-Oh, yeah,” Wooyoung chuckles sheepishly. There he is. The human San knows. A few laughs and snorts sound out, but San doesn’t stick around too long to enjoy the ensuing banter. Exhaustion sinks deeper into his skin with each step he takes, and Jongho has to toss him on the exam table by the time they conclude their short trip.

 

His last fleeting conscious thoughts are of the captain. He prays their leader makes it through, but he also prays that he finds whatever he’s looking for. 

 

After all, he’d wandered astray for a reason.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve got one more thing to do.”

 

Those were Hongjoong’s parting words to his crew. 

 

The captain rushes up the stairs. Since catching sight of the platinum blond bastard, he hasn’t taken his eyes off of him. His vision actually tunnels. All he sees is him, casually leaning over the railing, watching. Probably laughing.

 

Fuck.

 

To say it burns Hongjoong is an understatement. Perhaps he felt burned when he realized the other had played him. Then charred as he stormed the hangar with his crew. Now he can’t describe what he feels. White-hot, iridescent, ready-to-burst supernova, explosive anger. The kind that melts away every other feeling, sensation - all outer stimuli period. 

 

Hongjoong kicks aside blackcoats and sucker punches thugs left and right. He doesn’t remember doing this, but he imagines that the bodies in his path got there somehow. 

 

They’re in the way.

 

He wonders what that smug motherfucker is thinking. He probably thinks he’s gotten off scot-free. Once the lockdown lifts, the place will probably be flooding anew with blackcoats, not to mention the cruisers zipping around outside. How long can the thugs hold on, really? Then again, they do have an armed to the teeth warship at their disposal. 

 

That’s all beside the point, though.

  
This isn’t about the Coalition or the Stray Boyz.

 

This is about Kim Hongjoong settling a score with Park Seonghwa. This is about writing a wrong - finishing something. Hongjoong isn’t about violence or killing, but Seonghwa’s too much of a liability at this point. He’s a petty, persistent fucker. Even if ATEEZ gets away, Hongjoong gets the vibe that it wouldn’t be their last time seeing the guy. Nah. He’s vindictive and no doubt would tirelessly chase down ATEEZ if given the opportunity.

 

He has to take him out.  _ Has to. _

 

The personal satisfaction is nothing but a bonus perk, honest. 

 

Hongjoong can feel his pulse quickening and hear his heartbeats thrumming in his ears. The edges of his vision swim as the center hones in on a single point. A single blond-haired, blue-eyed, black-clothed point. Joong’s guts toil as he ascends the stairs, going beyond their entry level to the very tippy top. 

 

He ventures a look down - his first time looking away from the petty officer - and his stomach flips. Shit. That’s high. No wonder the PO chose this as a vantage point, Joong muses. He can see everything unfolding. The catwalk lines the entire perimeter of the hangar along with a single walkway that crosses over the middle; it makes an ideal vantage point for the hangar below - there’s no nooks or crannies for people to hide in; not a single discernible blind spot. All the insanity beneath them looks like a war between ant colonies from the top catwalk. What a pity it’d be if PO Park went splat in the middle of it all. 

 

Hongjoong huffs, trying to steady his racing heart when he steps up onto the top level. Looking down gives him vertigo, so he scans the perimeter. After all, it’s a big circle. There’s only so many places that the other can be.

 

That’s when the captain’s heart freezes. His pulse rushes, and his fists clench on reflex when he locks eyes with Petty Officer Park Seonghwa. He’s far - at the exact opposite side of the catwalk. Initially, he looks surprised.

 

The two stand statue-still for a minute just staring. What’s he thinking? Hongjoong wonders. He feels silly pondering such a thing. It’s obvious they both have one thing on their minds: killing the other. 

 

Hongjoong starts walking toward the other. 

 

Seonghwa mirrors him.

 

All the while, their eyes don’t leave one another’s. Not even for a second. It’s like two alphas squaring up to decide who’s going to be king of the pack. It’s the calm before the storm, the clash of clouds and the crash of thunder. At first, Hongjoong thinks it a bit odd. He and Seonghwa appear to be walking in the same direction as opposed to directly toward one another.

  
Then it dawns on him - there’s the walkway running through the middle.

 

That’s where they’ll meet.

 

Did he do that on purpose? Or had they both been so damn distracted they just started moving? Maybe their inner antagonistic magnetism drew them toward one another in this way. Who knows. Who cares. 

 

Just a few meters until they’re both in the middle. Until the storm breaks and the titans clash. Antarctic contempt versus blazing passion, the soldier versus the wanted man. Seonghwa versus Hongjoong. 

 

How poetic.

 

Hongjoong stops at the intersection of outer circle and inner path. Straight across the middle path stands Seonghwa. Even from far away, Hongjoong registers the chill, the frigidity coming off of him like a merciless winter wind.

 

The guy’s probably still armed, but bullets are finite. There’s no way he got this far without using most - if not all - of them. Seonghwa’s stronger than him, too, and more experienced. But Hongjoong’s got the element of surprise and maybe, just maybe he admits that, yeah, he’s got dumb luck, too. The crew’s firing up ATEEZ as he speaks. So should he need an assist, they’ll have his back.

 

But it won’t come to that, he assures himself. He won’t let it come to that. Because he’s going to be the one solely responsible for claiming Park Seonghwa’s life once and for all. 

 

Hongjoong takes a step forward, and so does Seonghwa. Joong takes another. So does the petty officer. The two remain composed for maybe a meter or so. Through their eyes the shout profanities and curses, each damning the other to the most grisly, horrific fate they can imagine. The veneer of calmness breaks when they’re about four, maybe three meters apart. Who’s counting? Joong sure as hell isn’t. Not when the PO’s just within his grasp.

 

“You shouldn’t have sought me out,” Seonghwa’s the first to break the silence, dashing to grab Hongjoong by the collar.

 

The captain evades, shifting to the side, “I had unfinished business.” He ducks, dodging another punch and fires back with one square to the PO’s sternum.

 

Seonghwa doesn’t seem very affected, “Seems like you’d wrapped everything up neatly once you reunited with your  _ family _ .” He lilts the last word in a mocking tone. He knees Hongjoong in the gut. The pain knocks the wind out of the captain, but he refuses to give into it. 

 

Irritation swells in Joong’s gut, “Had one loose end to tie up.” He grunts. The two grapple, exchanging a few blows. 

 

Suddenly, the petty officer throws the captain back. Hongjoong lands on his ass, wincing as his tailbone makes contact with metal grating. Seonghwa withdraws a gun from the back of his waistband and points it at the captain.

 

“I think you’re quite mistaken,” Seonghwa says cooly. “The only loose end here is- oof!”

 

Idiot.

 

Classic Prettyboy running his mouth when he’s got no business to. Hongjoong takes the opening and bursts off of his ass to tackle the other. He ends up on top of the PO and reaches for his gun immediately. Joong’s anxiety spikes acutely when he realizes that, rolling around on the ground like that means that the railing won’t protect them. One wrong move and they’re _both_ going splat on the hangar.

 

Even with the ever-present fear of falling, he reigns in his nerves and focuses on taking the PO down. Hongjoong elbows Seonghwa in the face which gets him a hand on the throat. Fuck. The abrupt impact of palm on his airpipe makes him see stars. It makes the world turn upside down as he hacks and coughs.

 

Wait. No. It’s the petty officer doing that, Joong realizes too late. He writhes and wriggles beneath the other’s weight, but it’s no use. He’ll have to find some other opening. 

 

_ “Thwaack!” _

 

Molten pain pierces Hongjoong’s face and trickles down his nose, cheeks, and up to his forehead. Joong coughs - the sound wet and sickly. The unmistakable tinge of iron hits his tongue. Fuck. He’s bleeding. It’s probably just a bloody nose. There may be some bruises, too - not that the captain gives a rat’s ass. 

 

He continues struggling, trying to shake the other off as he thinks of a better plan. He glances to the side again. No railing there. Just open air. If he could just get the other off of him with enough force… That thought has to wait, though, because the PO jabs his gun into Hongjoong’s chest.

 

“U-Urgh,” Joong hisses. He grabs the wrist holding the gun and tries to wrest the arm from the PO’s grip. 

 

“Stop struggling,” The petty officer huffs raggedly. He swipes the barrel of the gun across Hongjoong’s face for good measure, causing a fresh stream of blood to gush from his nose.

 

Hongjoong blinks the tears out of his eyes. When his vision clears, he freezes for an instant. For the entire duration of knowing him, Hongjoong can confidently say he’d never been afraid of Park Seonghwa.

 

Until now.

 

His icy eyes are wide and absolutely manic. There’s blood splattered on his porcelain skin. However, his appearance isn’t nearly as horrifying as his behavior. Those cold, soulless eyes lock with Hongjoong’s, and it’s like he recognizes the fear. He feeds off of it. The edge of his lips twitch just a bit though a full smile doesn’t form. Instead, his tongue flicks out from between them, catching a fleck of blood.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

  
He’s  _ insane _ .

 

He’s going to kill you and  _ enjoy it _ , Hongjoong thinks to himself. His throat constricts, squeezing every breath that tries to pass through. The captain can feel his entire body trembling. Never before had he encountered such- someone so- there aren’t words. There are no words. The only one he can think of is “crazy”, but he’d never encountered crazy like this. This is full-on bloodlust.

 

Panicked thoughts race through Hongjoong’s head. He’s at a disadvantage, and any second, a bullet’s going to go through his chest just like it went through-

 

Seonghwa’s arm.

 

Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate. He wrests his arm from beneath the other and jams his thumb into the freshly cauterized bullet wound.

 

“A-Aaahhh!” Seonghwa screams in pain, dropping the gun and clasping his arm by reflex.

 

The captain had never in his life scurried away from someone so fast in his life. He backs up, almost forgetting to snatch the gun as he stands up. Hands still shaking, Hongjoong points the thing at the blond. Seonghwa grimaces at him. He looks less crazy which would be a relief if Hongjoong had the propensity to feel anything other than intense anxiety at this point. He doesn’t, though, and starts backing away.

 

“Wh-Ff-” The captain’s eyes go wide. He feels like a moron. Seonghwa wrapped a hand around his ankle, and he didn’t even notice or think to shake it off. Hongjoong teeters back onto his ass, a fresh wave of agony rolling over him from the tailbone and out. The gun goes flying. Though Joong wills it to just slide off of the railing, he has no such luck.

 

Seonghwa leaps for it and actually manages to grab the thing just as it skids toward the edge of the catwalk. The way his fingers graze the open air serves as a stark reminder that nothing is there to protect them if they’re that low. Fuck.

 

Hongjoong, not about to get his ass shot, jumps on top of the other again. Seonghwa fends him off with his free hand and grips his gun in a vice with the other. With two unencumbered hands of his own, Joong starts wailing on the PO, punching indiscriminately. His face, throat, shoulders - really, anywhere he can land a decent, full-on shot. Seonghwa blocks a few, but not all. Even after a carefully calculated punch right at the base of the throat sends him into a coughing fit, he still holds onto that damn gun. Persistent fucker.

 

Joong gets another face full of metal, then another, and his head starts spinning. That’s when Seonghwa flips them over. 

 

“I got you a present,” Seonghwa snarks, brandishing the gun right in front of Hongjoong’s face. “Click-click.” Joong’s eyes go wide with panic, and he grabs Seonghwa’s wrist as fast as he possibly can.

 

_ “Bang-scree!” _

  
Fuck.

 

The sound of metal bouncing off of metal is so damn close, but it’s a miss thanks to the last-second grab. Thank fucking god it’s a miss. Shit. Hongjoong can’t even take a moment, because the fucker’s already trying to break out of his grip. His chest heaves and aches from his frantic breaths. Tears fill his eyes anew and, fuck, fatigue threatens to drag him to his grave prematurely. At this rate, he’ll exhaust himself. Then he’s  _ really  _ dead. No Treasure. No returning to his family. Nothing.

 

No.

 

No, he tells himself. 

  
That’s unacceptable.

 

Hongjoong wriggles until he somehow manages to get his legs in a workable position. With all the force he can from beneath the other, he drives his knee into what he assumes is Seonghwa’s general groin area. It works. Seonghwa lets out a choked groan and locks up. Hongjoong tosses the PO off of himself, giving exactly zero shits when the guy’s arm hangs off of the catwalk. Even though his head is spinning, Joong gets onto his feet with the help of the railing. 

 

Part of him wants to know where the fuck his crew is, but his overwhelming pride disallows that thought to go too far. This is his fight and his alone. This is for him to finish and nobody else.

 

Things feel noisier, and the catwalk vibrates. Maybe it’s the energy from below resonating through the metal. Maybe it’s his imagination or some projection of his own feelings onto the environment. Whatever’s causing the ringing caterwaul to get louder, more riotous, it only further fuels the captain’s passion. 

 

Hongjoong takes a second - just a second - to catch his breath. He knows he shouldn’t do that. He watches Seonghwa sluggishly get onto all fours. He ought to stop that but, fuck. He’s tired. They both are at this point. Neither has slept, they’ve both been injured, bled a fair bit, thrown punches and received more than a few.

 

But only one of them is gonna come out of this.

 

And Hongjoong swears that it’s gonna be him.

 

_ “Bang-scree!”  _

 

Unless he gets shot. Fuck.

 

Joong shrinks back, pupils flitting around frantically to see where that bullet had gone. Was it close? Even if it wasn’t, every time that gun goes off, the captain’s heart stops.

 

_ “Baaang-scrit!” _

 

Shit. Another near miss. What? Is the Petty Officer tired or something? He squints at the other dubiously.

 

_ “Claaang-cliiiink!” _

 

“Another miss?” Hongjoong huffs out snarkily. “Petty officer, just give it up. Clearly, you’re tired.”

 

Joong’s body lurches all of a sudden. He loses control for a second, his feet actually leaving solid ground. Alarmed, he reaches for the railing and clings to it for dear life. 

 

_ “Claaaank!” _

 

Another abrupt drop of his body makes Hongjoong’s heart drop even further. He searches frantically, wondering what the fuck is going on. Is he losing his mind? Has his exhaustion caused him to lose control of his body? Why does it feel as if the ground is caving beneath him?

 

Maybe because it is - well, sort of. The ground isn’t caving in, per se. It’s simply inclining. Steeply inclining. Hongjoong’s eyes follow the bottom of the catwalk platform, up the railing, and then up the - oh god - up the chains holding it up. Or, more properly, the chains that had once been holding it up. While Hongjoong would typically have some words regarding the safety of the catwalk rigging, he’s busy holding on for dear fucking life. A few extra cables hold the platform up - barely. They seem to be there for extra support, but certainly not to support the entire thing. Hongjoong can almost feel them stretch taut and tense. He makes the mistake of looking down and- oh, god, that’s vertigo-inducing. People race around below, lasers and bullets still bouncing across the open hanger. Odds are they’re totally unaware of what’s happening above. Joong can see more than a few shots focused on ATEEZ - shit. That’s what’s holding them up.

 

“Did you really think I missed?” The blond grins ear to ear. This might be the happiest Hongjoong’s ever seen him. Seonghwa lets out a mirthful laugh. The sight brings back memories of the first time they’d met, how Seonghwa had laughed in his face at the prospect of him hunting for Treasure. It makes bitterness broil and fester in his guts. God how he wishes he could make the jump from his platform to Seonghwa’s and just strangle the guy.

 

“You realize I could-” Joong glances up and, no, no climbing back up without help is not an option. Shit. “-I could stay here until the crew comes to get me. Your brilliant plan of knocking me off didn’t work.”

 

“You think I wanted to knock you off?” Seonghwa laughs. “I just needed your squirrely little ass in one spot so I could line up my last shot- and, I assure you, this one will hit you square between the eyes.”

 

“Last shot? What last shot?” Hongjoong asks, straining to sound stable. “You used, what? One? Two earlier on the gangsters? You know,  _ before  _ you stabbed me in the back. Plus probably a few on your way here.”

 

“Before I-?” Seonghwa guffaws. “As if you didn’t plan on doing the exact same thing. I merely pulled the trigger first.”  _ “Click-click.”  _ “Just as I will now.”

 

“Wh- Y-You are so full of  _ bullshit _ !” Hongjoong shouts back, affronted and nearly hysterical from nerves. “I told you I’d keep my word, why wouldn’t you believe me?”

 

“Why the hell should I?” He tilts the gun menacingly to the side. “I see who you are now: a compulsive liar who knows how to manipulate and deceive.”

 

“I- I  _ what _ !? I’m not the one playing cops and cowboys with an unloaded gun.”

 

“Oh? You wanna find out if it’s loaded?” Seonghwa lets out a wry laugh. “Well since you’re so eager-”

 

“My crew’ll be here any minute. I’d advise against that.”

 

“Heh. I’ll take my chances.”

 

“Really? You and your little handgun against a combat freighter? Do you like those chances?”

 

“If I go down, I take you with me.”

 

“How romantic,” Hongjoong snarks bitterly. In truth, he’s just stalling for time.

 

“God, you really don’t know how the hell to shut up, do you?”

 

“Hm. Guess not.”

 

“Well then,” Seonghwa shrugs and takes a deep breath. “I’d say it was a pleasure, but we both know that’s a lie.”

 

“Ah, something we can agree on.”

 

“What a pleasant way to end things.”

 

Hongjoong ventures another glance down. Fuck that’s terrifying. But not insightful. ATEEZ hovers low, but it looks like a few GC cruisers have actually entered through the hangar’s open gate. Fuck. They’re a little encumbered. It’s not anything ATEEZ can’t handle, but it does delay the redemption of Joong’s get-the-fuck-out card. He swallows down the ill feeling wading up his throat dangerously.

 

“Hm,” Seonghwa tilts his head curiously. “And here I thought you’d have one more unbearable quip.”

  
“Well, if you want one,” Hongjoong chokes out. His body’s shaking with strain from holding on so tight. If he’d just been thrown onto the railing, yeah, he’d be fine holding on. But this is holding on for dear life after hours of nonstop fighting and toil. If Seonghwa draws it out any longer, he might not need to shoot.

 

Still, the captain adamantly plays the part of the roguish foil to the end, “I’m not sure where I’d start with you, really. Would you perhaps like a comment on your hair which- while no longer immaculate - still resembles raw ramyun.”

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of your tacky mullet,” Seonghwa fires back venomously. “Hm. How I’ll miss our banter.”

 

“Aw,” Hongjoong retorts, “If you’re gonna miss me so much, why not save the bullet for someone else? I mean, you’ve been drawing this out a fair bit yourself. Are you even sure you  _ want  _ to kill me?” 

 

Seonghwa’s cool expression dissolves into one of rage. Shit. Too far. Now he’s pissed. Hongjoong curses his fat, stupid, impulsive, stress-loosened lips for making such a moronic jab. His guts turn as he watches the humanity drain from Seonghwa’s eyes. They frost over completely as he steps forward and straightens the gun.

 

“Goodbye, Kim Hongjoong,” The petty officer growls with an air of finality.

 

“Seonghwa wait-”

 

_ “Bang!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // SHITTY NERD REFERENCE SCAVENGER HUNT GET  
> Find the...  
> [ ] cowboy bebop reference (easy)  
> [ ] final fantasy reference (moderate)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // TRIGGER WARNING(s): mention(s) of death, mourning, dead bodies

It happens in an instant.

 

It’s crazy how a life can be defined in a single second, how a life can pivot by one split-second decision.

 

How everything can change.

 

A sound and a flash of light can draw that final period - the punctuation denoting the conclusion, ultimate completion. For Kim Hongjoong, that dot is made of lead, and it comes racing in his direction after letting out its cry of damnation.

 

_ “Bang!”  _ The loud noise echoed across the hangar’s uppermost catwalk, ringing in Hongjoong’s ears. He registered the PO’s eyes going wide - surprise? Shock? Ecstasy? He can’t tell, his eyes squeezed shut of their own volition microseconds after.

 

Though it only lasts a moment, that almost microscopic tick of time stretches on and on. It protracts itself, evolving from life-ending moment to life-defining, life-remembering. Time itself loiters as if it, too, desires to draw out the moment. For what? Hongjoong wonders. Is this abstraction of time meant to be taken for remembrance? Appreciation and love? 

 

Or ought he give in to the countless regrets that so greatly strive to drag him down to hell prematurely?

 

Heat.

 

There is heat.

 

Hongjoong feels it.

 

He’s surprised, for it’s all he feels. He’d expected to feel piercing, the rending of flesh and spurting of blood, his life’s essence pouring out of him and raining on those down below. But it’s just a snap of warmth racing into his body. He registers the sensation of warm liquid running down his cheeks. Those are tears, though. That he knows, even in his half-life state. 

 

His last tears.

 

What a thing to think about.

 

He shakes. He shakes violently, petrified to let go of that railing but moreso of his life. A shot square between his eyes - that’s what he’d been promised, and that’s what he’d been delivered. There is no escaping that; no tricky outmaneuvering to be done nor smoothtalking is going to influence the will of the angels, the gods, or whatever otherwordly powers that may be.

 

Hongjoong is tired.

 

So, so tired.

 

And perhaps now he can rest.

 

Yes, he thinks.

 

Now is time to rest.

 

Rest…

 

Rest…

 

Any second now.

 

He’ll rest.

 

That coldness he always read about in storybooks or saw on TV will set in, and his grip will give, sending his lifeless body to the ground.

 

Right?

 

Right?

 

…

 

_ Right? _

 

Hongjoong timidly blinks his eyes open. Tears blur and distort his vision. He still feels pain. Is this what it’s like being braindead? Being present yet simultaneously unaware? 

 

Except, that doesn’t explain how he can take account of every one of his faculties. His fingers remain firmly gripped around the metal railing - albeit sweaty and slippery. He still feels the pull of artificial gravity tugging his body down, down toward the hangar floor. All the dull aches and sharp pains knock at all the right places. 

 

Wait a minute.

 

Pain.

 

Pain.

 

Dead people don’t feel pain.

 

People who got shot do feel pain, but not if the bullet goes straight through their eyes, they don’t. So…

 

Where did that bullet go?

 

Did the other miss again?

 

Is it truly possible that he - the formidable, assured petty officer - actually  _ missed _ his final shot on the unmoving target?

 

Holy.

 

Fucking.

 

Shit.

 

Elation bubbles up inside Hongjoong, and he gasps. He smiles uncontrollably and opens his mouth, ready to gloat. When he looks to Seonghwa, he waits for an excuse or a snarky comment, a curse or a threat. Hongjoong’s face falls into a look of bafflement when he’s met with the sight of devastated shock.

  
Missing a final, almost unmissable shot on an enemy would likely ruffle anyone. However, what puzzles Hongjoong is the fact that Seonghwa isn’t looking at him at all. He’s not looking at the captain, and he’s not even looking at his gun, blaming it for a faulty discharge or anything. His eyes are trained in Hongjoong’s direction, yes, but they are beyond him.

 

Seonghwa stands petrified in place, jaw dropped and flapping as if he’s dismayedly attempting to find words. Words for what? To explain  _ what _ ? That he had missed a shot? Would he really look so damn devastated, though? Joong notices the hand holding the gun is quaking. Tears gloss over the PO’s cerulean eyes, and shit, he looks so… So pathetic, almost. Pitiful. Sad.

 

Hongjoong follows the other’s gaze, and his mouth falls open.

 

What?

 

What?

 

What?

 

_ What? _

 

Seonghwa’s shot didn’t miss.

 

He’d deliverd it, as promised - right between the eyes. 

 

Right between the eyes of a Galactic Coalition officer who’d - in the midst of the distraction - snuck up behind Hongjoong. The blackcoat lays there cold and defunct. Hongjoong studies the body on the platform behind him and, in one hand, he sees a laser with a barrel dangerously close to his nape. The shooter glows purple.

 

That color’s indicative of one particular setting: fatal.

 

No matter what Seonghwa did, that shot would’ve finished Hongjoong. Period. End of story.

 

Wait, but-

 

No.

 

That can’t be right.

 

It must be a mistake.

 

Right?

 

Of course it’s a mistake.

 

Right?

 

Is Seonghwa so damn up his own ass that he’d burn his last bullet just so he can be the one to end Hongjoong? Maybe that’s it. Except, then, wouldn’t he still be trying to kill Hongjoong? Wouldn’t he want to finish the job?

 

“You saved my life,” Hongjoong utters dumbly. “Why did you- Why did you save my life?”

 

“I- I-” Seonghwa shakes his head. “I- Iunno- I- Iunno- I- I mean- I didn’t I- I don’t kn-know- I don’t know why I- I-”

 

“Up here! There’s more of them!” Voices bark from behind them.

 

Shit. Their little one on one match is no longer fair in numbers. Blackcoats block each side of the central catwalk. Fuck. 

 

_ “Zzzzt! Zzzt!” _ “Stand down.” “Put the gun down!”  _ “Zzzt-!” _

 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Hongjoong flinches at just the sound of laser shooters. He’s in a precarious enough position as it is without getting shot at. A fresh set of tears threaten to fall from his eyes. His hands feel clammy, and he’s weak, drained from hours of exertion. 

 

“Down here-!” “Let’s converge.” “Stand down!” “Officer three-zero-two is down, I repeat-”

 

_ “Brrrrrr-rrrrr-rrrRRRRRRR!” _

 

Hongjoong nearly jumps off of the railing when the thunderous noise booms beneath him. It’s so damn loud, his ears ache, but it quickly dawns on him that it’s a familiar loud. Wrenching his eyes open, Hongjoong looks down and gasps.

 

“Get the fuck on!” Jongho yells from the loading ramp. It’s impressive he can even yell over the deafening jet propulsors. “Now! Captain, just let go! We’ve got you!”

 

“They’ve got a ship!”  _ “Zzzzt!” _ “Is that the stolen rattlesnake-” “We’re gonna need more cruiser units-”

 

ATEEZ floats up steadily, and Hongjoong’s tippy toes just barely touch the ramp. He doesn’t need any further prompting to hop down, onto the loading ramp.

 

“Get them off the ship!” “The loading ramp-” “He’s the one who shot three-zero-two-” “Open shoot- open shoot!”  _ “ZZzzzt! Zzzt-” _

 

What follows is a whirlwind of impulse.

 

Lasers shoot left and right, all going for the center. There’s only one person they can possibly hit at this point, given that ATEEZ’s ramp is floating off to the side. Without rhyme, reason, logic or ration, Hongjoong reaches out. He just. Reaches out. He leaps forward and yanks the black collar as hard as he fucking can. The ship jerks downward in tandem with his grab, letting gravity do the work the captain can’t.

 

Two bodies tumble in, collecting a rainbow of bruises as they do so. There’s a lot of loud noises. Shouts over the intercom, yelled curses, questions. There’s a warning: they’re going into warp the second they clear the air field. The ship jerks and jostles as GC cruisers and the Stray Boyz stronghold alike fire at them. Thankfully, with replenished fuel, ATEEZ’s shields are juiced up enough to tank them. They pay no mind to the utter ruin they’d left in their wake.

 

Warp happens. 

 

There’s a flash of light, and the loose bodies in the loading bay fly. 

 

God, now  _ that _ hurts. Shit. Hongjoong’s body gets slammed against everything. The stairs, the walls, Yeosang’s work tables, empty hovercarts. He’s battered and bruised when they get out of jump, and the first words he can finally properly make out are:

 

“Jumped damn near as far as we fucking could,” It’s Yunho’s relieved voice and, shit. Fuck. “I- I think we’re out. I mean- Nobody’s tracing us. Warped us to the middle of nowhere, so, odds of us running into friends are basically nonexistent. Gonna put us on low econ cruise and set security to alert us should anything come up.”

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

Hongjoong feels so fucking relieved to hear Yunho’s voice, he could cry. He might, actually.

 

They did it.

 

They did it.

 

They got out.

 

They got _ the fuck _ out.

 

Holy fucking  _ shit _ .

 

Hongjoong laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs. His sides split, and tears roll down his cheeks as he just lays on his back, splayed out on the ground and laughs. 

 

The other laughs, too. 

 

The entire cargo bay just echoes with maniacal laughter. It fills the bay to the brim, pure, unadulterated verbally delivered bliss. It hurts, god it fucking  _ hurts _ to laugh. The captain can feel his lungs straining against his ribcage. Every single little ache and sore spot screams out beneath his skin and, fuck, how amazing is that?

 

Because pain means you’re alive.

 

He’s  _ alive _ .

 

They’re all still alive. It was a triumph. They’re alive and it  _ hurts _ , and never has it ever felt so  _ glorious _ to hurt. 

 

The captain’s a mess, but he doesn’t give a shit. He can’t be assed to care about much, really. He’s running on the fumes of adrenaline that’d been surging through his veins hours prior. When he finally tires of laughing, Hongjoong heaves an ecstatic sigh.

 

“Captain- Captain, are you alright?!” “Captain!” “What the fuck-”

 

“Hm?” Hongjoong sits up and, oh, okay so maybe pain isn’t that great. He winces and glances over his shoulder. Yeosang and Mingi stampede down the stairs alongside Jongho.

 

“Shit,” Yeo huffs. “Shit are you alright?”

 

“Captain, when San’s finished resting, you need to go to the infirmary, okay?” Mingi fusses over the captain.

 

It’s Jongho who finally bursts the bubble, “What the fuck is  _ he _ doing here?”

 

Oh.

  
Yeah.

 

Him.

 

Right.

 

“P-Put him in the cell,” Hongjoong blurts out. What else is he supposed to do? The guy stabbed him in the back and almost ran off with the Coalition. 

 

The youngest’s brows knit in bafflement,“But- But why did you-?”

 

“Just put him in the cell!” Joong bristles. For some ill-founded reason, his gaze finds the petty officer’s. Those blue eyes are a far departure from the set Joong’s used to. They’re lost, confused. 

 

I’m sorry, Hongjoong almost wants to say: 

 

I’m lost, too. 

 

“R-Right, yes captain,” The youngest responds obediently.

 

Hongjoong mumbles as heat prickles his face -  _ why  _ is he flushing? “Yeosang if you can look at him, um, medically. Wh-When you get a chance.”

 

“Yes, captain,” The cyborg nods.

 

“Good, good, um- thank you, I just-” Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose. All of the fatigue hits him like a freight ship, “Why don’t you all get some rest. Take whatever meds you need and just sleep a bit. Then we can gather over a meal.”

 

“Captain, please, get some rest,” Yeosang suggests softly.

 

“No, no I’m the captain I need to-”

 

“Sleep,” The cyborg asserts. “You look like you’re about to pass out as it is. You’re not gonna be a very good captain if you’re too tired to function.”

 

“I just wanna make sure everyone gets- gets to bed alright and stuff.”

 

Yeosang pouts a bit but finally relents, “Fine. Make sure everyone’s all tucked in, then you go to bed, too.”

 

“I will,” Hongjoong nods. 

 

As exhausted as he is, the captain has a feeling that sleep won’t come easily. His mind is overfull, spilling with thoughts, ideas, theories, and questions. No doubt they’ll plague him when he lays his head to rest. He just hopes that when body overcomes brain, the myriad worries don’t follow him to his dreams.

 

* * *

 

Hongjoong bundles himself more tightly in the blanket he’d taken off his bed. The pilot’s chair in the bridge isn’t exactly comfortable. The squeaky leather does nothing for his aching. Even after an indiscriminate amount of sleep, his body’s still bogged down with exhaustion. Restless thoughts ultimately roused him from his spot on the bed. He figured that if he stayed much longer, he’d meld into the mattress anyway. So, the captain walked his sore body up to the bridge. 

 

He’s been there ever since. Just alone in the quiet, staring at the stars. They look so peaceful, and it feels like the Stray Boyz warship is lightyears away. Even so, part of him remains slightly anxious. 

Memories bubble up of the escape. The ghost of gunshots and vague yells persistently ring in his ears. It’s like the place left a stain on him. He’s not sure how long it’ll take for that mark to fade.

 

Whenever the noise becomes too much, Joong makes a point to set his eyes onto the stars. Their serenity is contagious. It’s easy to let the mind drift out through the bridge into the vacuum of space. The stars speck the horizon, glimmering peacefully, as if they don’t have a care in the universe.

 

The matters of man are but a passing trifle to the stars. They outlive sentient humans by centuries, millenia. Hongjoong can’t imagine existing for so long. It’s mind-boggling to think that they’ve lived through so much as silent bystanders of man’s follies. Even more fantastic is knowing that due to the advancement of technology, he has the privilege to soar among them.

 

Of course, the past day- Has it really only been a day? Perhaps two have passed since the whole ordeal began. Regardless, his experiences have made him understand more than before how much of a privilege it is to be in space. To be free.

 

Joong spins the chair around to gaze at the Compass; strange and mysterious, yet almost homey. There’s a familiarity to it. Is it because he’s stared at it so goddamn much? Or is it the countless hours spent fantasizing about Maddox’s Treasure that makes it feel so familiar? Maybe it’s just the unplaceable warmth the device emits. Sometimes, Joong thinks he’s just imagining it, but being in the presence of the arcane Compass makes him feel… Weird. Not bad weird, though. Just. Different. It’s not exactly easy to describe. “Comfort” isn’t quite apt. The thing thoroughly confounds him to the point of frustration. But he can’t deny the sort of security he feels around it. Maybe it’s the physical assurance that he’s not insane, that this isn’t some fever dream or illusion.

 

_ “Shiff.” _

 

The door to the bridge slides open, and two tall, smiley figures skip into the bridge hand in hand. It immediately breaks the contemplative silence Hongjoong had enveloped himself in, but he doesn’t mind it. Actually, he’s glad people came in. He’d probably stare at the Compass for another three hours without interruption.

 

“-ed to just check. I don’t think anyone else is-” Yunho’s giddy grin falls upon seeing the captain, and even though he’d been there first, Hongjoong feels like he’d interrupted something. “Oh. Captain, you’re- you’re up.”

 

“You don’t seem happy to hear that,” Hongjoong teases with a smirk.

 

“Wh- No, No I- Uh-” The canis stutters, gaze darting between his Venusian partner in crime and his best friend. “Just surprised,” He finally chokes out.

 

“Good to see you’re up and about already,” Mingi adds sheepishly. “Honestly I thought you’d be out for awhile, too. You took a hell of a beating.”

 

Hongjoong shrugs, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  
“Wh-” “No, no we’re not- not disappointed-” “Seriously it’s a relief-” “It’s impressive-” “Just a surprise, um-”

 

“Oh my god,” Hongjoong laughs, “Calm down. I’m just playing.” The two lovable idiots visibly relax, heaving a sigh of relief between them. 

 

“Well, uh, we were just checking on- on things,” Yunho says.

 

Mingi adds,“I’m, uh- I still have a lot to learn about interstellar travel. It’s fascinating, and Yunho is, uh, kind of an expert.”

 

“Right. I’ll leave you to it,” Hongjoong doesn’t even bother holding back his huge grin. Waggling his eyebrows shamelessly at the humecanis as he passes by, donning his blanket like a majestic mantle. He figures he ought to give them their space. No doubt if he’d stayed much longer the air would’ve gotten real thick and uncomfortable real fast. It’s inevitable that those two will throw themselves at one another, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be around for it.

 

Honestly, the wake up call was much needed. Hongjoong’s head feels infinitely clearer as he descends the steps. Yunho’s half-lie gets him thinking: maybe he ought to check on some things, too. Without really intending to, Hongjoong finds himself in front of someone’s bedroom door.

 

He raps on it a few times after remembering who it belongs to,“Jongho?”

 

No answer.

 

_ “Knock-knock-knock.” _

 

“Jongho?” He tries again. Nothing. Hongjoong glances at the keypad by the door dubiously. Odds are, the guy doesn’t lock it. It’s just them, and who on earth would just barge in on a peacefully sleeping Choi Jongho? That would be a gross invasion of privacy and, quite frankly, imprudent.

 

_ “Shiff.” _

  
“Jongho?” Hongjoong calls for the youngest softly as the door opens. It’s dark, and light from the hall floods in through the doorway. In the inky obscurity, Joong can just make out the hazy silhouette of Jongho in bed, chest rising and falling steadily. He’s still asleep. 

 

The captain treads forward quietly, just to get a better look. Jongho’s out like a light. He looks so young when he’s asleep. Like any normal young person dreaming about their crush or scoring an internship. Something like that. (Hongjoong himself doesn’t know what “normal” types dream about, really. Probably not a fictitious Compass like he always did.) No person in their right mind would look at Jongho and believe that he possesses fear-inspiring might.

 

Hongjoong wonders: what  _ does _ he dream about?

 

He’s come to know Choi Jongho as he is now, in the present. But what of the path that took him there? The path that led him to prison and, eventually, to ATEEZ? Aggravated assault. That’s all Hongjoong knows. But given that the report is according to the Coalition, who knows how accurate that is. It can be a complete fabrication, the result of being in the wrong place, wrong time. Knowing this all too well, Hongjoong chooses to believe it as the truth. However, his rational side refuses to ignore the sliver of possibility that their baby Jongho has the ability to perhaps lash out violently. Many people act out when they’re angry, provoked, or feel cornered. The problem is, many people don’t have the strength that Choi Jongho does.

 

Occasionally, when Hongjoong really zones out, he just mulls over his crew: their mental states, their physical health, how they’re feeling and how to read between the lines because god forbid people actually communicate properly. Jongho is the least visibly vulnerable which, in turn, concerns the captain the most. Of course, he wouldn’t dare  _ say _ that. It’s not his wish to just force feelings out of a person. If and when Jongho wants to come to him with anything, he’ll be there. Until then, he’s left doing what he’s been doing ever since watching him kick down that cell door. He wonders.

 

Satisfied with Jongho’s snoozing state, Hongjoong moves on. He opts not to disturb anyone else’s sleep cycle and instead addresses the growling in his stomach. 

 

Fuck. Food. That’s a thing he needs to live - and a thing he wants right now. Delicious food. Well, okay, it’s ship food - flash frozen and compressed for convenient unpackaging, rehydrating and occasional “cooking”. Calling it delicious is a stretch, but, hell, it’s sustenance and, for what it is, it’s not that bad. Even though he feels like he could eat half the kitchen, Joong keeps it modest with a bowl of instant noodles. 

 

The unmistakable fragrance of peppery spices floats up from his bowl as hot water from the dispenser mixes with powdered broth. Bright red liquid fills the bowl, seeping into the alkanized noodles curling around. Vegetables sop up liquid and unfurl, coming to life in the broth; cabbage, bean sprouts, chives, chilis and a soft-boiled egg swirl around. Hongjoong’s mouth waters at the sight.

 

He licks his lips, eager to chow down, but suddenly an unwelcome thought strikes him. A sinking pain knocks inside his chest - pain not originating from all the physical toil he’d endured, but something . He frowns. Though his stomach still tosses and turns in wait for a meal, the way his heart dips disinclines him from digging in.

 

Even though he swipes it away the second it comes up, the impression left is unshakable. The damage is done, and Hongjoong’s guts start knotting up as he prepares a second bowl.

 

Carefully, Joong carries a bowl in each hand as he descends the stairs to the bottom level.

 

“Captain, you’re up,” Yeosang swivels in his seat, brows raised with surprise.

 

Hongjoong’s heart stops, and he practically throws the bowls of noodles across the damn loading bay due to the abrupt shock. His mouth flaps open and closed dumbly until he remembers what he was trying to do.

 

“Y-Yeosang. You’re up,” He starts, straightening himself so as to look not entirely flabbergasted. “Have you… Have you gotten any rest at all?”

 

The cyborg shakes his head, “Can’t. Not until this-” He gestures to himself, “-is all situated.”

 

It takes the captain a shamefully long time to understand exactly what “this” entails. Then he remembers that Yeosang had been pulled apart. Hongjoong’s heart dips even further when he imagines it. God. It must’ve been horrifying. To just get taken apart, dissected and studied like a- well, like a machine.

 

“H-How is everything?” The captain asks, crossing over to the cyborg’s workstation.

 

Yeosang huffs, brows knitting discontentedly, “I- I don’t know.”

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Joong carefully sets the two steaming bowls of ramyun onto a bare workbench. 

 

“I… I mean I don’t know,” Yeo frowns. He looks down at himself, turning his hands over and flexing his fingers. Everything is attached and at least visibly functioning, that’s a plus. But if he still thinks something is wrong, that can’t be a good sign. 

 

“Are you hurting?” Hongjoong asks. “Like- Where does it hurt? Are you feeling bad? Okay- What did those fuckers do to you, because I- I swear we can somehow find them again and-”

 

“No!” Yeo’s voice bounces off the walls of the loading bay. He clears his throat, repeating more calmly, “No. Nothing is- nothing is wrong. That’s the problem.” The cyborg wrings a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. “Nothing is wrong. I can’t find a single thing.”

 

“What’s wrong is… That nothing is wrong?” Hongjoong repeats the other’s words just to be sure he’d heard it right. How can nothing being wrong be… Wrong? He supposes that perhaps had he better capacity for, well,  _ thinking _ in general in his condition, maybe he’d understand. 

 

“He did something I just- I just know he did,” Yeosang says.

 

“Who did something? The- the scientist dude who took you apart?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Well, what did he do?”

 

“I don’t  _ know _ ! I’ve done every fucking test and scan  _ imagineable _ and nothing is showing up,” Stress palpably oozes from the cyborg, and Joong can’t blame him. An undetectable threat is far more disconcerting than some big, loud wound. Knowing something is wrong but not knowing what is torture. Yeosang lets out a ragged breath as he rambles, “I- I just- I just know he did-”

 

Hongjoong gives the other a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder,“Okay, okay calm down. You, uh- did he say anything? Like maybe there’s a hint-?”

 

“I’ve replayed our every meaningful interaction including peripheral vision plus extra senses and- and nothing.”

 

“Uh- Come again?”

 

Yeosang lets out a big, long sigh as if he’s being tasked with giving a two year old an in-depth explanation of black holes, “My- My backed up memories. I watched them closely, amped up the sound as much as possible to listen for  _ any _ indication as to his plans. But- but nothing. Nothing on the scans, nothing on the footage. I’ve scanned my entire body like- like thirty times. Different tissues, auric, thermal, brain wave signatures. Done x-rays, subdermal scans, a  _ thorough _ physical cavity search-”

 

“Okay, okay point taken!” Hongjoong cuts the other off before he gets too far into detail regarding the cavities he searched. Jesus. He’s never seen Yeo so frazzled - not even during the BH patrols. “W-Well, I mean- Do you- do you feel anything? Like- like physically off? Is there anything that’s just not working?”

 

Yeo huffs, “Not besides my sanity. I mean- I- I don’t know it’s just a- well, I guess it’s just a hunch, but- but there is no way he just  _ didn’t do _ anything.”

 

“Yeo…” Hongjoong pulls the other into a hug. He’s not sure exactly what else to do. He sure as hell has no technical prowess to offer. The cyborg heaves a sigh, melting into the gesture a bit. “If you need anything- like, anything, just tell me, okay? If you wanna find those fuckers again and beat the shit out of that guy, I’ll do it.”

 

Yeosang shakes his head, “Honestly, if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”

 

“Why don’t you get some sleep before you run any more tests?” The captain advises. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged at this rate.”

 

“I really don’t know if I can sleep.”

 

“Can you please try? Please?” Hongjoong asks as nicely and softly as he possibly can.

 

Yeo worries at his lower lip for a minute before finally conceding, “Okay… Okay, I’ll try.”

 

“Thank you,” Joong grins, giving the cyborg one last squeeze before relinquishing his loving vice. 

 

Yeosang stands up and stretches languidly, and a yawn wracks through his entire body. Just like Joong thought: Yeo’s way more tired than he wanted to admit.

 

“Hey, what’d you come down here for, by the way?” Yeo asks. Hongjoong’s ears burn, and his eyes shoot to the pair of bowls.

 

“All that ramyun for one?” The cyborg prods further, quirking a brow. It’s like he wants Hongjoong to cough it up, knowing damn well who the second bowl is for.

 

“He needs to eat, too,” The captain grumbles.

 

For a reason entirely beyond Hongjoong, Yeosang’s lips upturn just ever so slightly, “He’s not that bad, is he?”

 

Hongjoong narrows his eyes at the other, “What do you mean by that?”

 

Yeosang shrugs as he starts ascending the stairs, “What I said. You pulled him back here for a reason.”

 

The smolder of irritation burns in Joong’s guts like a low simmer, just barely there. He decides to ignore it in favor of addressing what he’d come down to do in the first place.

 

“Yeo, you’ve got those, uh, hovering tray things here, right?”

 

The cyborg looks bemused, but thankfully, he just answers the damn question instead of asking more of his own, “Stacked on the bench to the far right.”

 

“Thank you, Yeosang,” Hongjoong says. “Good night- or morning.”

 

“G’night, captain,” Yeosang lilts, disappearing up the stairs.

 

Upon the other’s departure, Joong lets out a breath that had somehow pent up in his chest. Unfortunately, the tension that had built up doesn’t quite dissipate with it. He eyes the bowls sitting by the console. 

 

“Just… Get it over with,” The captain murmurs to himself as he activates one of Yeo’s hovering tray things. Hongjoong wants to do the damn thing, he swears he intended to go straight to the brig, but then a noise rings out from behind the stairs.

 

Hongjoong distractedly wanders toward the noise, eyeing the hall behind the staircase. A block of light stretches out from the single door obscured by the loading bay stairs.

  
The infirmary. Is San still in there? After recovering from jump, Hongjoong went straight to bed, swearing up and down that he’d get checked later. He never did; he figured San would get better use out of theh place. Like always, the siren put all of himself and more into the fight. He still hasn’t had time to fully recover from his ankle injury, not to mention the immense mental strain he’s under.

 

Joong slowly pads toward the infirmary, ready to reach out and shut off the lights. His blood freezes the instant he sees two bodies in there. Though he doesn’t want to hear - really, he  _ doesn’t _ \- he happens to catch a hushed conversation between San and Wooyoung. Well, more properly: between Wooyoung and himself. San spends most the time staring daggers at Woo. Hongjoong never got the full story on why San’s pissed at him, but, sadly, it doesn’t surprise him. It’s not like the captain  _ wants _ to paint things in the light of “right” or “wrong”, but it’s obvious to him there’s a sort of misalignment of expectations between the two.

 

“-said I’m alright,” San insists. He won’t even look Wooyoung in the face. The human pushed a rolling seat up to the exam table and leans over the siren.

 

“Let me help you to bed,” Woo’s soft voice echoes out into the bay.

 

The captain feels like these two totally have a handle on things. Wooyoung seems to be tending nicely to the injured siren, and San hasn’t killed the human yet. That’s fine, right? So, he ought to go. That’s what he’s doing. Going. He tells himself that, and he tells his body to obey the order: just go.

 

But his feet, eyes, and ears - his whole body, really - have decided they’re rebelling and turn him into some sort of a perverse eavesdropper. Which he totally isn’t. Sure, he’s very, very concerned with the relations of his crew and their wellbeing, but even so, he would never actually listen in on their conversations or, say, watch them through the corner of a glass door. Never. His proximity and line of sight into the infirmary is pure coincidence - a fluke, really. And he definitely isn’t straining his hearing to listen in as the others continue.

 

“I’m fine,” San replies.

 

Wooyoung starts,“You’re hurt-”

 

“Why are you here?” The siren cuts him off venomously. Ouch. That stings. Or at least, that’s what Hongjoong would think if he was watching. Which he’s not.

 

The human falters, clenching his fists in his lap,“San, I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

 

“I’m okay. So leave me.”

 

“Wh- San- I’m just trying to- trying to-”

 

“Trying to have some consensual, adult fun?” The words are delivered with such acerbity that even Hongjoong shudders hearing them. (By coincidence. It was a coincidence that all. He’s not watching with rapt attention or anything like that.) “Why not just take me now and get it over with? Then you can end this farce. It must be  _ exhausting _ to pretend you care for so long.”

 

Wooyoung is rightfully dumbstruck by that. Hongjoong can see the younger wrestle with his emotions, reigning in impulsive reactions. He bursts out of the chair and storms out.

 

“I think you need to get more rest,” He growls over his shoulder before exiting the infirmary.

 

Hongjoong takes that as his cue to back up. The captain scrambles back panickedly, suddenly very eager to get back on task. He silently wills Wooyoung to turn the opposite way, but luck has other plans. Woo’s eyes blow wide open when he’s face to face with his captain. 

  
Shit. Busted.

 

“C-Captain, I- I didn’t expect you to be up,” Wooyoung mumbles. His voice is thick and his eyes glossy, wet. 

 

“I was just- just, um doing things-” Good one, Joong thinks to himself. “-checking on Seong-San. San. Wanted to check on San. But, uh, it looks like you, uh, you had it covered. Is he doing alright?”

 

Woo’s eyes fall to the ground, “Yeah. Yeah he’s fuckin’ swell.” He starts walking away without another word, but Hongjoong yanks him back by the collar.

 

“And what about you?” Hongjoong presses, searching for the other’s gaze. “Wooyoung, are you okay?”

 

“Just a few bruises and scrapes like everybody else,” Woo tries to step out of Joong’s grip, but the captain remains firm. “Wh- What?”

 

“Come on, Wooyoung. I’m serious. Are  _ you _ okay? Like- Not just your body.”

 

Wooyoung takes a deep, shaky breath. He blinks rapidly to keep his tears at bay. There are words just waiting to leap from his lips, Hongjoong can tell. But for whatever reason, Woo doesn’t dare elaborate.

 

“San needs some sleep is all,” Wooyoung chokes out. “He just- he’s hurt. Hurt people say things sometimes.”

 

“Did he- did he say something?” Hongjoong tries to sound as surprised as possible.

 

“I mean, I wouldn’t be nice, either, if I’d gotten continuously injured after getting banished from my home,” Wooyoung shrugs himself out of Hongjoong’s grip and resumes his trip back toward the steps. “I don’t hold it against him.”

 

“W-well, okay then,” The captain responds. “Um, whatever it is I’m- I’m sure he’ll come around. You two care a lot about one another, I can tell. In spite of everything, I think you’re good together.”

 

Wooyoung pauses halfway up the stairs; he turns to glare at the captain over his shoulder, “Don’t say that.”

 

Hongjoong’s affable smile of reassurance immediately falls, “What?”

 

“Don’t  _ say that shit _ . That we’re ‘good together’ or ‘care a lot’ or whatever-”

 

“Wh- Wooyoung-”

 

The younger turns around and barks,“We are  _ not _ together!” The shout ricochets off of the loading bay walls. Wooyoung roughly wrings a hand through his hair and lowers his tone, “We’re not. Together. We have  _ never _ been together. I-” He hisses through his teeth, “I never slept with him. Nor will we ever  _ be _ together in any way other than- than as shipmates, so please just- just stop.”

 

“Wooyoung, I-” Don’t know what to say - at least, those are the words on Hongjoong’s mind. His mouth is just agape and his mind blank, at a total loss.

 

“I’m going to bed,” Wooyoung wraps up the conversation, stomping up the stairs before Hongjoong can think of anything to say.

 

That’s.

 

A lot.

 

Hongjoong makes a note of the incident. It’ll definitely need addressing in the future, but hell, maybe he’s right. Maybe some rest is all it they need and things will sort themselves out. God, Hongjoong hopes so. He really doesn’t want to step between those two, and his brain’s overloaded as is. Most pressing, however, is what brought him down to the bottom level in the first place. There’s a reason he came down here, and it wasn’t to tell Yeosang to sleep or to watch Woo and San fight.

 

Heaving a sigh, Hongjoong attempts to clear all of those distractions from his head. Anxiety needles his insides anew at the inevitability of moving forward. There’s no more distractions, no more excuses. Just two bowls of noodles getting cold and about a million unanswered questions. At least one of those things needs to get addressed.

 

* * *

 

Eight silver points, grimy from how many times his fingers have passed over them. Dust has settled in the nooks of the octogram - the eight pointed star - and the oils from his fingers have muddled the once gleaming surface. Embedded onto black leather and accented with engraving: “UT ET IUSTITIA OMNIBUS, UNITUM ESSE STELLAS”.

 

Order and justice for all, united are the stars.

 

The core values of the Galactic Coalition, distilled into short phrasing in a dead language for the adornment of badges, buildings, and occasionally even Coalition issued apparel.

 

Those words used to read so profoundly to the petty officer. Now they look like nothing but a puzzling jumble of letters. He knows what they mean. He’d memorized the phrase in the academy, burned it into his brain, recited it to himself and even referred to it for guidance. But now, looking upon them gleans nothing. No joy. No reassurance or thought provocation.

 

Just nothing.

 

Seonghwa used to shine his badge meticulously. He’d do it every time he noticed a speck of dust or fingerprint - even when he got bored at his desk. Hell, he even used it as a crutch when he first got thrown into the god forsaken brig. Now, it’s fallen into a sad state of disrepair, not unlike its owner.

 

Even so, Seonghwa keeps tracing the dulled edges of that eight pointed star like it’ll save his sorry ass. It’s too late for that, though. Nothing can save him from himself.

 

It’s been coming in waves, the emotion. At first, there was complete bafflement. He felt… Adrift. For the briefest of instances, a sort of mind-melting elation in lieu of the escape. When the noise dulled, he realized just where he’d ended up, and the entire weight of his actions collapsed atop his shoulders.

 

After it truly dawned on him that he’d ended up back behind bars, he sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. At some point during that abyssal low, he reached for his worn badge and clung to it. He eventually calmed down for a little. He had tired of crying, and the toll of everything eventually pulled him into a restless sleep. 

 

Unfortunately, upon waking, there came no respite. Just as fervently as they dogged him before, his dark thoughts haunted him once more. It was one, though, that rang loud above the rest. It played ceaselessly through his mind in a tormentous loop:

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

 

I had the shot.

  
Why didn’t I take the shot?

 

I had the shot.

 

Over and over and over again the words tortured him. They’re branded into his mind at this point. A constant reminder of what may perhaps amount to his most momentous failure. No matter how many times the question posited itself, he could never quite reconcile the true core of the why. Why didn’t he take the shot?  _ Why _ ?

 

Now he’s just exhausted. Despair, self-loathing, contempt, anger - it’s all so tiring. At this point, all of those emotions feel muffled. He sort of registers that they’re there, but his body and mind are too spent to really give him the full effect.

 

Instead, he gets an impression of what he’s feeling. Like a prompter informing him that he’s feeling depressive now, or he’s questioning the future. He nods and agrees without truly understanding or fully experiencing the sensation.

 

_ “Shiff.” _

 

Seonghwa jumps at the sound of the door.

 

Oh god.

  
They’re here.

 

What fate is to befall him? No doubt a miserable one. Torture for the attempted murder of their captain? Death for setting the Coalition on them? Or perhaps he’s to be served one final sentence: the rest of his life is to be lived here. In this cell. He’ll never set eyes on the sun or the stars again. His parents, his brother…

 

Seonghwa scoots to the back of his cell - as far as he possibly can be from the bars - and fortifies himself. No matter what his fate is to be, he sure as hell isn’t going to show weakness to any of them.

 

Especially  _ him _ .

 

Hongjoong steps in front of the cell, a steely, stern expression fixed on his face. He steps forward, and Seonghwa shrinks back. His back hits the wall with a soft thud.

 

_ “Shiiiff.” _

 

Seonghwa’s mouth gapes and his eyes widen upon seeing his cell door open. His mind screams at him: “Go. Go. This is your chance. Go!” It screeches loudly, imploring him to move. To do something,  _ something _ . This is it. His chance. Probably the last one he has left.

 

But his body refuses to cooperate. He can’t will it to move. Seonghwa’s throat constricts, and he prays that, at the very least, he doesn’t appear as thoroughly wrecked as he feels.

 

Something slides into his cell, and he flinches. A weapon? Some pain-inflicting torture device?

 

_ “Shiiff.” _

 

The door closes, and nothing happens.

 

Seonghwa blinks rapidly to clear the wet from his vision. When his sight focuses, he makes out a- a floating rectangle. Hwa wipes his eyes and tries again. It’s… A hover tray. There’s something on top of it.

 

“I figured you’d be hungry,” The captain breaks the silence.

 

Seonghwa stands up hesitantly and glances at the tray. There’s a bowl of ramyun on top of it. Is it poisoned?

 

“It’s not poisoned,” The captain says as if reading Hwa’s mind. “Look, see-” He lifts a bowl of his own to his lips and slurps the broth.

 

Hwa eyes the bowl on his tray dubiously.

 

“What- Do you want switch bowls? Will you eat then?” The captain asks.

 

Seonghwa considers it, but the thought of swapping spit with that guy irks him. He figures if he’s going to die like this, he might as well face it head on. Wordlessly, the PO takes a seat on his bed and pulls the tray toward him. He timidly tips the bowl to his lips and sips the warm broth.

 

God.

 

Poison or not, it’s absolutely delicious. Hwa acknowledges that the hours of deprivation are what’s warping his mind right now. They always say that hunger is the best seasoning of all. He doesn’t give a damn right now, though. Contemplation, reflection and consideration all take a backseat to consumption. He never stopped to acknowledge his hunger. So many things occupied the forefront of his mind that he neglected one of his most basic needs: food.

 

And something about the comforting familiarity of ramyun warms him body and soul. It’s so salty and spicy yet mild. There’s a sort of poetic shittiness to the oversalted, processes food that makes it even more glorious. For a second the thought actually passes: he doesn’t care if this is how he dies; this is  _ amazing _ . Appreciative “mmm”s slip out of his throat between frenzied bites as he shovels more and more into his mouth. The egg is so soft and chewy while the scallions provide a little tangy kick.

 

It’s not until he’s most of the way through the bowl does he wakes up from the spell. He sets down the chopsticks on the tray. The captain certainly didn’t come down just to give him a tray of ramyun. As a matter of fact - why did he give him a tray at all?

 

Seonghwa wipes the broth off his chin and asks precisely that, “What- what is this?”

  
Hongjoong quirks an eyebrow, “Uh- It’s dinner. Or breakfast- maybe.” His tone is clipped. Awkward. So Seonghwa isn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable. That’s both reassuring and disconcerting at the same time. Seonghwa assumed that the captain had come down with some sort of concrete plan, but now, he wonders.

 

“Why not send it through the slot, like usual?”

 

Hongjoong purses his lips, and his pupils dart away, “Well, you- you always eat on the floor, and…” He presses his lips together. “And I figured it’d be more comfortable for you to eat sitting up.”

 

More comfortable?

 

“Since when do you give a shit?” Seongwha breathes out. Now that he’s got food in his belly, he’s starting to feel drowsy again. He stubbornly tries to stay awake, though. He needs to know the real reason the captain paid him a visit.

 

“Since you saved my life,” Hongjoong answers, unwavering.

 

A pang of- of something hits Seonghwa. He doesn’t know what it is. Pain? Anger? Despair? Regret? He’s so desensitized at this point, he can’t even properly distinguish emotions anymore. All Seonghwa knows is that he can’t meet the other’s gaze. There’s too much fire burning behind those eyes, and this time, Seonghwa doesn’t have it in him to keep the flames at bay.

 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. The use of his name cons Hwa into meeting the other’s eyes. Hell. They’re dark, unlike his, a coffee color so deep they’re almost black. It always makes him hard to read which infuriates Seonghwa to no end. Reading people is part of his job, and he used to be so damn confident. But not with this man. He’s unpredictable and cunning; one second a bastard the next playing nice. At this point, Seonghwa doesn’t know what to make of him. He used to think of the captain as nothing but pure garbage, but now…

 

He can’t think straight.

 

Hongjoong holds Seonghwa’s attention captive as he continues, “You saved my life, and I want to know: why?”

 

God. That question again. How the fuck is he supposed to answer Hongjoong when he can’t even answer his damn self?

 

“You could’ve left me for dead,” Seonghwa counters nervously. God, he prays his appearance doesn’t betray his anxiety. How humiliating it would be to show vulnerability. “Why didn’t you?”

 

“Because-” Hongjoong seems to almost choke on something. What? What is it? Seonghwa wishes he could read minds right about them. Some insight -  _ any _ insight, even the most vague or mundane - would do his sanity wonders. “Because you saved mine first.”

 

“It- It was a misfire,” Seonghwa tries. How he wishes it was true.

 

“No.”

 

“A malfunction.”

 

The captain argues,“We both know that’s a lie. There’s no way in hell you could’ve missed that shot. So I need to know why you didn’t kill me when you had ample chance?”

 

“Well…” Seonghwa searches for something to say. “If-if you must know… My birthday’s coming up.”

 

“What?”

 

Hwa crosses his arms defiantly, “My birthday is coming up, and I decided that I’d like shooting you to be a special present to myself.”

 

“Wh- I-” The captain blinks rapidly for a few seconds, and the edges of his lips twitch. “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

 

Neither can I, Seonghwa nearly wants to reply. But he wouldn’t dare. Because they’re not friends. This isn’t amicable banter between two comrades. This is a prisoner and his jailor.

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just cracked a joke,” Hongjoong lets out an airy almost-laugh. 

 

“Well it’s a good thing you know better, then,” Seonghwa responds coldly.

 

They are not friends. They do not joke. They do not laugh together. He stamps this truth into his brain, hoping to overwrite all the peculiar, tense moments and memories from before:

 

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t care about you. Kim Hongjoong doesn’t care about you. Kim Hongjoong doesn’t care about you.

 

The captain’s expression darkens, “Right.” He frowns. “So you’re really not going to say it, are you?”

 

“Say what?”

 

“Say the real reason that you didn’t kill me.”

 

“I- I already told you it was a mistake, a fluke-”

 

Hongjoong shakes his head,“I don’t think it was. I think you meant it, but now you’re too chickenshit to- to live up to it. And I don’t know why-”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t think too hard, then. I- I will be the first to admit that mistakes were made-”

 

“Bullshit, you didn’t make a mistake. You kept me alive-”

 

“For as long as I needed you.”

 

“Then why did you stall?”

 

“My resources were finite. I had to assure I could finish you.”

 

“Oh my god- that’s such shit.”

 

“Well if you’re so sure you have the answer, then why come and badger me with your questions?”

 

“Because I need to hear it from you!”

 

“Hear what?”

 

“The truth.”

 

Seonghwa scoffs,“What truth? I told you the truth-”

 

“All I’ve heard are lies.”

 

“Oh, really? Lies? Then pray tell what is the truth?”

 

“You wanna know what I think?”

 

“Oh, I’m  _ eager _ to hear your take on it.”

 

Hongjoong sets his bowl down and walks up to the bars, so close his face almost sticks through, “You wanna know what I think happened back there?”

 

“I could use a laugh,” Seonghwa spits back.

 

“I think- I think you followed your heart.”

 

“I-  _ Excuse _ me?”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you had one either, but- but I think you do,” Hongjoong says, strained, agonized. He almost seems emotional, on the brink of tears. “I dunno what you do to- to turn that part of yourself off, but I really think it’s in there. And- and for  _ once _ , you followed  _ it _ instead of Coalition protocol.”

 

Seonghwa refuses to dignify that with a response. He can’t relive that moment again. As much as he wishes he didn’t remember it, that it was a genuine fluke, just as the captain said: that’s not true. No matter how many times he tries to fend of the invasive memory of the shot, it adamantly comes back. It was a mistake but one with conscious thought behind it - an impulse that ultimately overrode all logic and ration. 

 

“What’re you going to do with me?” Seonghwa asks.

 

“What?”

 

Seonghwa repeats himself, “I said:  _ what _ are you going to  _ do _ with me?”

 

“So that’s all you have to say for yourself?” Hongjoong huffs.

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

“The truth.”

 

“The truth or  _ your _ version of the truth?”

 

“Well if I’ve embellished so much then why don’t you tell me what happened back there?” The captain asks determinedly. God, why is he so damn adamant?

 

“You wanna know the truth? The truth is: I _ made a mistake _ .”

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

 

“What do you want me to say?!” Seonghwa snaps. “That I like you? That I didn’t shoot you because I want to be your  _ friend _ ? I have a heart, but make no mistake - you are the  _ last _ person in the universe that I would  _ ever _ open it up to.”

 

The captain lets out a long breath. Pique radiates off of him like noxious fumes, filling the space beyond the bars. He swoops down and grabs his bowl off the ground. He looks at the petty officer one more time with disdain before striding back toward the door. 

  
Seonghwa’s anxiety spikes, and he leaps to the bars, “Wh-Where are you going?”

 

“Enjoy the rest of your meal, officer,” The captain snarls, not even turning around.

 

“Wh-What are you going to do with me?”

 

“I dunno.”

 

“What?! N-No- You can’t- you can’t do this,” Hwa sticks his face as far out the bars as he can, just barely able to catch the sight of the captain by the door. His heart sinks,“What about your word? Th-The deal?”

 

“That possibility went out the window when you fucked off and called the dogs on us,” Hongjoong growls.

 

“You can’t keep me locked up forever!” Seonghwa shouts desperately, pride completely shunted to the wayside.

  
  


Hongjoong actually turns around to look Seonghwa in the eye; his voice gets low, menacing, and he growls,“Watch me.”

 

With that, the captain turns on his heel and punches the door’s keypad. He mutters something in a voice so low that Hwa’s certain he wasn’t supposed to hear it:

 

“Shame. We actually make a pretty good team…” He disappears through the door without another word.

 

Team.

 

A dry sob seizes Seonghwa’s body. God, it hurts. The cry rasps his insides as it forcefully drags itself through his lungs, chest, and throat. His entire body folds from the agony.

 

“We make a pretty good team.”

 

That’s the problem. That is precisely what unravelled Seonghwa in the end. The ease with which they adjusted to one another was disturbing, to say the least. Because they worked so well together, Seonghwa ultimately lost sight of his goal. Hell, it’d be no exaggeration to say he’d lost part of himself at some point in time.

 

The scene plays again in his head. As if he hadn’t replayed that trauma enough, he’s there again, on the catwalk. Hongjoong is cornered, clinging pitifully to the railing of the compromised section. There’s noise everywhere, lasers and bullets flying. But he’s focused. In that moment, there’s only two people in the universe: Park Seonghwa and Kim Hongjoong.

 

Seonghwa remembers it so vividly. How he levels the gun and takes a deep breath. He’s ready. He’s so ready. All he has to do is squeeze the trigger. That’s it. 

 

Then things go awry.

 

A hazy silhouette comes into the light. They withdraw their shooter lightning quick, and Seonghwa catches it - a flash of purple. Fatal. The figure lunges forward and levels the shooter at Hongjoong’s nape. 

  
That’s when it happens - the impulse, the mistake that ruined everything. The betrayal.

 

Seonghwa could blame dozens of factors for distracting or misdirecting him. But, at the end of the day, one thing stopped him from shooting Hongjoong:

 

Himself.

 

Though he denied it, he knows exactly what happened in that moment. A single thought ran through his head in the millisecond it took to seal his fate.

 

_ “He’s going to get Hongjoong, I have to stop him.” _

 

For some ill-founded reason, the other’s manipulations seeded  _ deep _ into Seonghwa’s mind. In the second it mattered the most, Seonghwa’s protective instinct kicked in. It betrayed him and sealed his fate. His gut, the one thing he trusted more than anything, led him astray. It chased a person he has no business following.

 

The emotion associated with that impulse wasn’t anger or even possession. It wasn’t that he thought Hongjoong was his to kill nor a concern for himself. It was pure panic, a fear that he would lose his literal partner in crime. 

 

And now he’s here. Possibly forever. Possibly until his presence bores the captain and he’s sentenced to death. He doesn’t know. Apparently, neither does the captain.

 

All Seonghwa knows is that he has to live with the consequences of his actions. 

 

Sleep.

 

That’s what he needs.

 

Sleep.

 

It’s his only escape from all of this, and luckily fatigue is one thing he has in excess. Another twinge of pain hits him when he sees the hovertray floating by his bed. What did he mean by that? “Comfort” - like he gives a fuck. He doesn’t care about Seonghwa at all. 

 

God.

 

Him. Him. Him. Him. It’s all about Hongjoong. Kim fucking Hongjoong. It always just goes back to him.

 

The hope of one day handing Hongjoong a life sentence used to keep Seonghwa going, but it feels so far away now. Even so, it’s all he got. Seonghwa grabs his badge off the ground and collapses into bed. He begs for sleep to take him soon as he runs his fingers around the edges of the eight-pointed star.

 

The points feel so dull anymore.

 

* * *

 

Two-hundred and fifty-three hurt.

 

Of those, a hundred and twenty-one injured.

 

Twelve of them are in critical condition.

 

Three missing.

 

Forty-three confirmed dead.

 

Bang Chan solemnly looks out at the wreckage in their south hangar from the second-tier catwalk. They got out on top - barely. Their victory is relative. The Stray Boyz made out with their ship, overwhelmed the Coalition units to the point that they got warp allowance. Jumping in a warship is no joke - it takes energy and time to ramp up. It’s risky when things aren’t secured. 

  
They made it out, but at a great cost.

 

Chan watches as his people work diligently below, carrying in felled brothers and sisters. Everything is quieter now. Much, much quieter. Nobody dares speak in tones louder than a whisper, and Chan had even instructed the lights in the hangar be dimmed. Workers down below delicately lay the deceased to rest and set up candles. 

 

This is so, so far from anything Chan had ever prepared himself for in his life. He knows each of the deceased had their own lives, their own beliefs and traditions for burial and mourning. Chan knows nothing of those things. He just does what he thinks is right.

 

“Boss,” A whisper rouses Chan from his lamentations. It’s Changbin, one of his highest ranking officers. He’s sporting a few nasty bruises himself. “Just got word petrification sealant’s finished.”

 

“Is everyone in?” Chan asks, eyeing those lined up below. His heart aches. Both he and Seungyeon lost good people today. They lost family. Though the two gangs have had issues reconciling cultural differences, they’re united in mourning.

 

“Yes, sir,” Changbin replies. “Just a few more. They’ll signal you down before, then we need to clear out and seal it up.”

 

“Right,” Chan sighs heavily. “How long will it last? The sealant?”

 

“Technically as long as we want if we keep reapplying it, but it’ll keep them preserved three days. Maybe four if we keep this place cool enough.”

 

Three days. 

 

It makes Chan’s heart splinter to hear. That’s all they have. Three days to say goodbye to those they’ve served with and lived beside. Thinking about it stokes the fire in his gut. Much as he wants to give in, he can’t. Not now, anyways. Not yet.

 

A hand signal down below alerts Chan to vacate the hangar. It’s time. They’ll mist the preservative through the sprinklers, turning the once functional hangar into a makeshift morgue.

 

It’s not the first time Chan has seen death, and it won’t be the last. But it’s the first time he’s seen it at this scale - just laid out plainly.

 

“Let’s go,” Changbin suggests softly. 

 

Chan frowns, following the other out, “We’ll have to be out of there for awhile, yeah?”

 

“Yes, sir. At least an hour for the sealant to set, another two or three to assure the fumes are dissolved.”

 

“Good. We got time for a meeting, then,” The leader strides down the corridor, already set on his destinatino.

 

“Wh- A meeting?” Changbin scurries to Chan’s side. “For what? It’s- it’s sort of all hands on deck- which you know. I mean- what is there left to discuss aside from the sendoff?”

 

“This ain’t about that,” Chan replies gruffly. He lifts his wrist and speaks into the embedded comm, “Open communication in channel eight-two.”

 

“What’s this about?”

 

The boss ignores his officer and continues making his case in the high clearance channel, “This is Chan speaking. I know you lot in the third-ring can hear me. I’m calling a meeting in the south wing war room stat. If you’re not directly working on bereavements at the moment, you best be there. More to come later. Out.”

 

“Boss, what are you doing?” Changbin asks dubiously.

 

“We have to make plans,” Chan grunts. The festering fury in his guts roils. 

 

“Plans for what?”

 

“They’re gonna pay for what they done.”

 

“What?! You can’t seriously think-”

 

“We let those fuckers get off clean, that’s like telling the whole galaxy that we’ve gone soft.”

 

“Boss, with all due respect, that’s insane.”

 

“No!” Chan pivots on his heel and shouts. His voice echoes loudly down the corridor. “What’s insane is the incompetence that led to this happening in the first place!” He slams a fist on the wall.

 

Changbin’s eyes go wide, and he swallows nervously, “Chan, I know you’re upset, but this is not a healthy way to cope with-”

 

“I’m not coping with shit,” Chan insists, resuming his hurried pace. “We can’t let the death of our beloved brothers and sisters be in naught. And we definitely can’t let those bastards get away with what they did.”

 

Changbin scurries after Chan,“Okay, I- I get it, I do. I’m upset, too, but squaring up against the Coalition-?”

 

“What?” Chan halts, raising his brows incredulously at the others. “The Coalition?”

 

“W-Well, yeah. I mean, they’re the ones who set their lasers to fatal and-”

 

“I’m talking about ATEEZ!” Chan throws his hands up. God. He really is surrounded by morons. “Those fuckers are the ones who brought the GC to our damn doors.”

 

“I- I understand you want to point fingers to blame, but I think we ought to look forward and-”

 

_ “Thud!!” _

 

Chan grabs Changbin by the collar and shoves him into the wall. He watches the other wince in pain. Good, he thinks. Changbin’s a brother to him, and he’d never really want to hurt him. Not too much, anyways. But right now, Changbin’s liable to be on his hit list.

 

“You think with your willy, and that’s part of why we’ve ended up here.”

 

Changbin sighs in defeat, “Boss, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I- didn’t think-”

 

“No, no you didn’t,” Chan snarls, releasing his grip. He wrings a hand through his hair, head reeling with ideas and thoughts all steeped in anger. 

 

He takes a deep breath. Then another one. He does a few to calm himself down before proceeding. Chan has a bad tendency to work himself up into having fits. He’s learned over time how to deal with it, and as much as he’d love to chase ATEEZ guns blazing, he understands logically that’s not what needs to happen right now. 

 

“None of us thought this would happen when we pulled them in,” Chan says, defeated. “But they- That- that blond fucker- got out and ruined everything. Maybe if they’d stolen some shit or given us a few bruises, that’d be one thing, but… Bin these are our lives. Our people.” It nearly pulls tears from Chan’s eyes, but the leader stubbornly reigns himself in. He has to be strong for them.

 

“I understand, Chan,” Changbin says. He gives his boss a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “I get it, but right now we don’t need our leader to- to chase some fugitives around the universe. We need you to be there and- and to lead us. To help us say goodbye.”

 

“You’re right, you’re right,” Chan nods, sniffling. “I ought to call off the meeting, huh?”

 

“Well, we needed to iron out our sendoff anyways,” Changbin shrugs. “I mean- You’re the boss, so, if you’re really impassioned about pursuing them, we’ll support you no matter what.

 

“That… That’ll be fine,” Chan responds. “You’re right. I need to be here for everyone right now, but… Soon. When this has passed and we’ve paid our respects properly, I’m looking for him.”

 

Molten rage boils in Chan’s gut as he envisions the fucker’s face. The name is tattooed in the back of his mind: Petty Officer Park Seonghwa. The fucking liar insisted up and down that he wasn’t “with” the fugitives. But the security footage doesn’t lie. He’s out there - escaped on ATEEZ, pulled in last second by the captain himself. Chan’s watched it dozens of times already in hopes of pinning down ATEEZ’s location.

 

One day, that pretty, blond head will decorate the captain’s office, he’s decided.

 

Petty Officer Park Seonghwa better watch his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // shitty nerd reference scavenger hunt 2:  
> [ ] portal (moderate)
> 
> jokes aside, i wanna especially thank yall for being here and reading this far. this is A Lot. and i'm so happy i can like take this journey w/ yall and show u my ideas and world. <3

**Author's Note:**

> // what do you think? they'll be nice?


End file.
